My husband finally bought me the ski coat I've been coveting for years. It was a birthday present. I picked it out, I tried it on, he paid for it. Two extra sizes up because I like them roomy and long enough to cover my bum. Black parka with a faux fur trimmed collar. I will finally ski gracefully down the slopes as the diva in the perfect outfit as I've always imagined. Well, at least in theory. First and foremost, I am nothing if not ungraceful and clumsy. But, I live off the fact that despite skiing down the slopes disgracefully, By God, I will look good doing it. I can't wait to rock that ski outfit albeit if I never ski down a single slope. Because the thing is, I had a minor incident on the slopes last year, tearing my MCL after a very clumsy right hand turn maneuver and am . . . . 1) slightly scared to re-injure my knee B) petrified of anything but the bunny slope and 3) not willing to mess up my beautiful new ski coat.
Memories from previous ski trips abound . . . . .
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