It's that time again!
What time?
Story time with Emily! (As you probably know by now that often takes to form of me regaling you with embarrassing stories. Perhaps I find further mortification edifying, perhaps I want to read upon my misfortunes in my old age and weep, perhaps I simply have a strange sense of humor and find myself humorous. There is humor in the ridiculous. Methinks the last explanation comes closest to the truth, but I will leave you to come to your own conclusions.)
As you know, I recently went on a ski trip. The following is a take away story from that trip and I wish you joy in it. Most people when they go skiing tend to have the normal accident stories that go hand and hand with snow sports. "Whoopsy-daisy, I fell down!" That sort of thing. Not Emily. For a good hour and a half I was accident free (surprised? I thought you had more confidence in me than that! Ehem, who am I kidding?) Honestly, I might have been getting a little bit over confident. I hadn't been skiing in three years and I was speeding down the slope with the greatest of ease. I started composing poetry in my head, I started gazing off in the distance dreamily, I started telling myself I was quite the little skier. I should have known it wouldn't last for long. Now, if we are going to take preferences into account, I'd like to state here and now that I would have preferred to have my comeuppance out of the site of man and beast, but then, our preferences in such cases often don't count for much. My story was not a little fall, it was not a little bump, it was not something that people say "Whoopsy-daisy" about. Oh no, when I fall I take out three people in the process. That's just how Emily's roll. (That was a pun, hardy har har, as you will soon see.) That's right I barrel-rolled. And took out three people. Don't forget that fact. I was just minding my own business, skiing along like the little skier I was, and then I came to the chair lift. Now, let it be known, I don't like getting on chair lifts. Anyways, there was a guy from school waiting at the bottom and I went to say hello because I'm polite, or try to be. So after I finished talking to this guy I said in a chipper tone (because I'm a chipper sort of being) "Well, I'll be seeing you, I'm going to go down again!" Little did I know, that he was the one that would be seeing me: barrel-roll under a chair lift. That's right. I misjudged the time. What can I say? I never had a good sense of timing. There were three innocent looking fellows about to get on a chair, I thought I'd get on the next one, I misjudged the time and skied in too fast and knocked them down like bowling pins. (What's ironic about this is that I'm not good at bowling and I get gutter balls more often than not. That is unless I am the bowling ball. My new mantra in life is don't be the bowling ball. Be anything but the bowling ball. Just don't be the bowling ball.) So the chaps went down, I rolled, I apologized profusely (probably a bit too much, in fact), and now I'm wondering how I can avoid the group of people from school who witnessed the incident for the rest of my college career.
But really, skiing was amazing. I want to go again. Nobody can say I'm not resilient.
My other random story for today is to comment on the young man who walked past the library desk while I was working last night. I don't think you understand, Sir, the complete in-decorum of singing that particular Seven Brides for Seven Brothers song in public. I realize it's a catchy tune, but you might want to remember that there are young ladies present and it might come as quite a shock to one of them to suddenly hear "Bless your beautiful hide wherever you may be..." (you know the rest) sung in a deep voice as you wander your way through the library. Just a suggestion, don't take Adam as a role model. Things turned out for him, but he was very lucky. Very lucky indeed.
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