Totally Awkward Tuesday: "Skiing"

(I put "skiing" in quotes because I'm not sure what I do can really be called "skiing.")

It's Tuesday, folks, so it's time once again for Tova's Totally Awkward Tuesdays!

This week I'm going back to middle school again. This story does not co-star Holly, unlike my previously told junior high adventures, though she was there and had a really good time laughing at me.

I grew up in Michigan and every winter they offered downhill skiing lessons after school. We all took a bus after school to Snow Snake Mountain for our lessons. This story takes place in my second or third year of lessons, so I had graduated from the bunny hill (the "No Child Left Behind" Act was not yet in effect, thankfully, or I would still be there). There was this boy in my group I had never seen before, which was a big deal because I grew up in a small town where everyone knew everyone. This new kid was pretty cute, so I had my eye on him and was eager to impress him with my hot snowbunny moves!

It was our first day of lessons and we were at the top of the big ski hill. Our task was to maneuver in and out of some flags and then stop half-way down the hill. Cute New Boy went first and mastered them (what a hottie)!

I was up next. Cute New Boy was standing half-way down the hill looking up at us, so this was my chance! I was going to swish, swish, swish through those flags and slide right up next to him. He would say, "Nice moves," and I'd say something suave like, "Uhhhh...yeah, ummmm... *SNORT*" (Even in my fantasies I couldn't come up with anything cool for me to say).

So I started swishing. I swished right around flag #1, then flag #2.... Oh, yeah. I was on fire! I then realized I was going a little faster than I probably should have been and I flew right past flag #3... and flag #4... and flag #5....

You would think after several years of lessons I would know how to ski, right? Well, I do kind of know how to ski.... I just don't know how to stop.

I instantly hit my trusty snowplow position (which does NOT work for me, by the way.... I have never had success with that move). I just kept flying straight down the hill, arms and poles flailing, gaining more and more speed. I look up and there he is. (You know what's coming, right?) The last thing I saw was a slow-motion "Oh, *explicit*!" look on his face and then...

BAM!

Yes, I hit him. And we rolled... and rolled... all the way down the hill together.

It was the closest I would ever get to him.

Thank goodness he was a nice guy and mumbled something like, "Don't worry about it" when we got to the bottom, while I apologized over and over, completely red-faced, stumbling over myself while I searched for my other ski.

We waited together for the rest of the class at the bottom of the hill. Had I been that suave girl I always wished I could be, I could have used that time to be witty and get to know the guy so we could have one of those great "how we met" stories to tell our grandkids. But instead I just sat in the snow amongst awkward silence and prayed for a quick and painless death.

When my ski instructor got to the bottom of the hill she took my ski poles away and I was not allowed to use them again that year. She considered them to be a safety hazard when attached to my flailing arms, I guess. The rest of the class looked relieved.

I have more "ski" stories, but they all end up with me crashing into someone or something in some fashion. I think this one is my favorite so I'll spare you the others... at least for today!

Happy Tuesday!