The day was spent dilly-dallying. Everyone was distracted with anticipation. Around 2:30 the Welshman and I started making preparations, and Thalweg joined us around 2:45, too distracted to focus on work anymore. We piled into the Adventure Camry, picked up the Welshman's girlfriend, we'll call her the Coolest Chick Eva, and we headed for the Great North.

That was the year I entered Princeton. That is to say, 2008, when I drove into the small town of Princeton, Massachusetts. Before we knew it, we were there! The finest ski resort in Southern New England: Wachusett Mountain. You know the one, just a bit north of Lake Chaubunagungamaug?

We suited up and off we went, shedding any and all thoughts of work, Thursdays, or Providence, Rhode Island that remained lodged in our conscious minds and shredding some coarse false powder, which slid over our skis more like pellets of plastic than snow.

All might have gone well this night, if not for one thing: Thalweg, the fastest skiier known to man, had not yet learned to stop. So it was that we went on a very steep blue run with many jumps and Thalweg mistakenly took one of the largest jumps available and executed perfectly the face-land... that is, she landed directly on her face, and slid down the mountain on it a fair way until her Thalwegian visage was covered in blood.

After several chocolate-covered sugar-waffles at Das Waffle Haus and a trip to the ski patrol hut, we were back on the slopes, and had a representative from In Touch magazine been watching, they would have consulted a plastic surgeon which does not treat the star and he would have agreed most heartily that Thalweg had had some augmentation done to her upper lip, which was now near twice its previous size. Her spokesperson would be unavailable for comment.

The way home, marked by the deep sleep of the Welshman and the Coolest Chick Eva in the backseat of the Adventure Camry, and an unfortunate >1-hr detour into the state of Connecticut, was nonetheless a perfect ending for a perfect night of skiing, and a great mischevious self-satisfaction took over all of us, as we had just been in another world, and no one would know when we went to work the next day. Except Thalweg of course, who can't laugh without splitting her lip, but who assured curious passersby that the wound was cosmetic and that they should feel sorry for the slope itself, which had to be taken away in a stretcher. Many stretchers, really, given the size of the slope.

Lol
I feel terrible for laughing at Thalweg's plight, but the way it was described is too funny....
» The-Muffin-Man on 2008-01-12 06:20:41

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