This last Sunday, I went skiing with my ordinary posse of friends. I could tell you at some length about the weirdness of skiing on a mountain on which not a single snowflake was produced in the sky.
I could tell you at some length about the overcrowded slopes that were brimming with people who chose to sit down on the middle of a run for no apparent reason. I could tell you at some length about my scrape with death after running face first into a fence at treacherous speeds, getting my boot stuck in said fence, and being forced to play the role of the damsel in distress for five minutes until an older Korean gentleman came by and liberated my foot. I could tell you at some length about the aerial view I had from a ski lift of a child who, clearly in pain, was lying flat on his back for ten minutes after Kelly inadvertently plowed over him. I could tell you about all of these things, but I’m not going to, for there is really only one thing that I want to mention about skiing in Korea, and it’s this:
Couples’ outfits make me giggle internally…
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