Skiing was fun until I got cold.
From the time I was unquestionably little mom, and dad were teaching myself and others how to ski.
We lived less than a mile away from a ski area, and mom and dad wanted all of us youngsters to learn how to appreciate the sport.
The first time all of us were out in the snow, I was more interested in making snow angels than studying how to ski. When dad got our skis on our feet, it was too difficult to make snow angels, so I let him teach me. I was so happy over knowing how to go down over a hill and stop without falling that I didn’t want to go inside that first night. Then I realized that once all of us got inside, all of us could kneel by the enormous fireplace in the middle of the room and drink warm chocolate. I was now happy to get off the ski slopes just to go inside and kneel by the fireplace. The hour day, I didn’t find skiing as fun, knowing they had warm chocolate and arenas to kneel around the fireplace, I found I was getting frosty easily. I would tell our dad that I was frosty, so he would have to take myself and others inside the building. On the second trip inside, our mom took me. She told myself and others that this was the last time I was going to get beside the fireplace until after lunch. I assume three trips inside, 3 cups of warm chocolate, and half an minute in front of the fireplace were a bit too much for only being out on the slopes for three minutes.