Shouldn’t We Start On the Bunny Hill?

The day after my sister’s wedding was the first time I was able to try out my newly purchased ski equipment. A friend’s dad, who had been skiing for most of his life, had offered to teach me the basics. I had gladly accepted the offer because the only other time I had been skiing had not gone as smoothly as I would have liked. A few years ago some of my sister’s friends from Connecticut were visiting our house and thought that it would be fun to all go to a nearby ski resort for the day. My sister had begged me to go along since she had never been skiing before and didn’t want to be the only one to look like a fool. I agreed to join them (mostly because my sister had offered to pay for my lift ticket and ski rental). Since skiing wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence, I didn’t have any proper ski clothes, so I chose to wear my dull, brown Carhart coat and Wrangler blue jeans. I looked like a farmer boy and felt like an idiot, but I told myself that other people there would be wearing work clothes. They weren’t.