The skiing humiliation continues. I got on a hill that was much too advanced for me. It was military ski day and David's commander heard me screaming from the top of the hill. He insisted on rescuing me. I just wanted to lie down in the snow until Ski Patrol took pity on me and escorted me down. Either that or I was going to try to scoot down on my butt.
My husband has an uncanny ability to photograph me at my best, no?
I ended up flipping down the hill hard enough to rip out the crotch of the snow pants. Yikes.
The colonel who lead me through "ski boot camp" was the nicest, most patient person I ever met. Even if I wanted to cry every five minutes because he wouldn't leave me to sit in the snow and pout.
These modeled photos of me apres ski wear reflect my pouting, my fatigue, and perhaps a tinge of triumph. Mostly they show that me sweater was fit at the bust and loose from there down. It's so comfy. So very comfy and warm for nursing wounds and pride in the lodge and at home after skiing humiliation.