Omg that is way too funny. I could just see myself doing the same thing but you are one up one me as i would love to see snow but i doubt they make thermals even close to what i would need to be warm enough to try.Speaking of snow ….
The Ski Holiday
Ex hubby was a sniper in the ski patrol back in his days with the British army. So, while not technically being born with skis on, something I am sure his mother would not like to contemplate, he was quite at home with 170cms [67 inches] of timber attached to his feet. The only experience I had had with timber on my feet was a pair of clogs someone gave me as a gift!
With his reassuring “it’s OK, I can teach you” still running around in my head, the ski holiday becomes a reality.
So, there I am, all decked out in what I was told was a snow bunny outfit but felt more like a Michelin Man suit with not only my feet extended by 150cms or so but also my arms, as they now have 105cms [41 inches] of aluminium ski pole attached to them. Perfect outfit for a windmill impression, many of which I did during the “I can teach you” sessions.
My first lesson was the ski plow which is the position you put your newly elongated feet into to slow yourself down and stay upright. Most of the snow ploughing I did was with my body!
Apparently, after a few hours, I was ready to tackle a green run; the jury is still out on that one
This is when I met the apparatus which was going to get me to the top of the green run. My instructions were, “you grab the moving rope, position this disc between your legs, lean back on the skis and you will be pulled up the mountain. BUT remember if you do not get the disc positioned between your legs correctly, let go and try again on the next rope”.
That sounds easy enough until you factor in that my feet are unnaturally 9 times longer than I am used to working with and my arms, twice as long.
I managed to shuffle my elongated feet into position and with ski poles dangling off my wrists, successfully grabbed the moving rope. Moving being the key word here, I am now being pulled up the mountain with one hand hanging onto the rope and the other hand trying to “position the disc” between my legs while trying to stay upright and not tangle the ski poles.
I not only failed to position the disc, I also failed to remember to “let go and try again on the next rope”.
Picture a rope on the side of the mountain with evenly spaced, leant back skiers, gracefully being pulled to the top. Now add me to that picture, crouched down, arms extended, too scared to let go, screaming!
As I went past a group of skiers just standing on the side of the mountain, I had briefly stopped screaming to grasp much needed air to fuel said screams and overheard one of them say “that’s different” .. my response could quite possibly have scored me the lead role in a remake of the Exorcist!
I made it all the way to top and even stopped screaming before I got there. Somewhere around the half way mark, my arm muscles had started some screaming of their own and they did not stop at the top.
Without making a long story even longer, I will skip all the details of “follow me” hubby making a wrong turn and leading me onto a Black run which I ended up crawling down with skis in hand, after my sitting in the snow and being told that I “have to get to the bottom” and “no, they will not send a helicopter to get you”.
Not only did I learn that skiing is probably not my thing, I was also reminded of how many times a day we use or move our arms and it only took a week before I was able to do that again without crying
Poor Bazza.Bazza Drops By For A Visit “HELP, monster, HELP, monster” was all I could hear as I raced out the front door half asleep and half dressed. A flaw of mine is that while I make a good Chicken Servant, I apparently do not make a good Chicken Body Guard because I failed to see anything even remotely monster-like on my 15min surveillance of the property and perimeters. So, as it was not quite the scheduled Princess Breakfast Time, back to bed I went. “HELP, monster, HELP, monster” .. luckily, this time while back to half asleep, I am fully dressed as I once again race out the front door. My bad … with all the noise they were making, I was looking for anything over at least 60cms tall or 60cm long, may be aerial, may be scaled, may be furry etc. I mistook the “HELP, monster” alarm for the “Princesses do not receive non breakfast bearing visitors before 9am” alarm … Bazza the Cane Toad had dropped by for a visit. With hubby's help, because the whole household was now up, Bazza was escorted off the premises and was last seen making his escape across the fish pond; most likely regretting his decision to visit uninvited and wondering if they make industrial strength ear plugs in cane toad sizesI always wondered what the gals would do if they encountered a cane toad; now I know
Speaking of snow ….
The Ski Holiday
Ex hubby was a sniper in the ski patrol back in his days with the British army. So, while not technically being born with skis on, something I am sure his mother would not like to contemplate, he was quite at home with 170cms [67 inches] of timber attached to his feet. The only experience I had had with timber on my feet was a pair of clogs someone gave me as a gift!
With his reassuring “it’s OK, I can teach you” still running around in my head, the ski holiday becomes a reality.
So, there I am, all decked out in what I was told was a snow bunny outfit but felt more like a Michelin Man suit with not only my feet extended by 150cms or so but also my arms, as they now have 105cms [41 inches] of aluminium ski pole attached to them. Perfect outfit for a windmill impression, many of which I did during the “I can teach you” sessions.
My first lesson was the ski plow which is the position you put your newly elongated feet into to slow yourself down and stay upright. Most of the snow ploughing I did was with my body!
Apparently, after a few hours, I was ready to tackle a green run; the jury is still out on that one
This is when I met the apparatus which was going to get me to the top of the green run. My instructions were, “you grab the moving rope, position this disc between your legs, lean back on the skis and you will be pulled up the mountain. BUT remember if you do not get the disc positioned between your legs correctly, let go and try again on the next rope”.
That sounds easy enough until you factor in that my feet are unnaturally 9 times longer than I am used to working with and my arms, twice as long.
I managed to shuffle my elongated feet into position and with ski poles dangling off my wrists, successfully grabbed the moving rope. Moving being the key word here, I am now being pulled up the mountain with one hand hanging onto the rope and the other hand trying to “position the disc” between my legs while trying to stay upright and not tangle the ski poles.
I not only failed to position the disc, I also failed to remember to “let go and try again on the next rope”.
Picture a rope on the side of the mountain with evenly spaced, leant back skiers, gracefully being pulled to the top. Now add me to that picture, crouched down, arms extended, too scared to let go, screaming!
As I went past a group of skiers just standing on the side of the mountain, I had briefly stopped screaming to grasp much needed air to fuel said screams and overheard one of them say “that’s different” .. my response could quite possibly have scored me the lead role in a remake of the Exorcist!
I made it all the way to top and even stopped screaming before I got there. Somewhere around the half way mark, my arm muscles had started some screaming of their own and they did not stop at the top.
Without making a long story even longer, I will skip all the details of “follow me” hubby making a wrong turn and leading me onto a Black run which I ended up crawling down with skis in hand, after my sitting in the snow and being told that I “have to get to the bottom” and “no, they will not send a helicopter to get you”.
Not only did I learn that skiing is probably not my thing, I was also reminded of how many times a day we use or move our arms and it only took a week before I was able to do that again without crying
This story is so true. I had a cat just like Syba. Love, love love this story. Thank you so much for the entertainment.Litter Party
Those of you who are owned by a Cat can probably relate to this. Those of you not owned by a Cat, congratulations on dodging that bullet!
Ah to be able to do paperwork without assistance, have nice things in the house and walk down the hallway or into a room without the threat of being tripped or pounced on by ninja cat! Gone are the days when a shower can be had without an audience and doors in the house can be closed.
We have two furry overlords in residence, Syba and Chimee. Don’t tell them this, but we actually love having them around
For their toiletry needs our cats use the white, crystal kitty litter.
Quiet, petite, lightweight Chimee .... gets in, does her business and shakes her paws on the way out. Hardly makes a paw print and rarely takes any litter with her when she leaves.
Loud, boofy Syba … gets in and throws a dance party! Paws full of litter get tossed as far as he can as he tries out for the Cat Olympics Gold Medal in litter tossing. He gets out walks around the place depositing kitty litter as he goes; I am thinking from some hidden stash he has in a pouch. Back to the litter he goes, throws another dance party, refills the pouch .. repeat three or four times .. then, finally after doing his business he closes the session with tosses of more paws full of litter around the place just for good measure.
One day I will have to go over to the neighbours and apologise for the kitty litter all over their place also. And, if I ever hear their kids say “look mum it has been snowing” I better get over there pronto before they try and make snow angels!
