White Washing

I went downhill skiing, for the first time ever. My father-in-law took me and he is a great instructor. He helped me learn the rule #1: don’t lean. I also learned how to turn, how to have fun, and most importantly, how gracelessly fall.

While traveling down the mountain for the first time my father-in-law was saying “turn” each time I needed to turn. Apparently I need to remember to “just keep turning” and I can travel downhill pretty well.

Just as I was getting the pacing, he stopped vocalizing the instructions. The hill was getting steeper. I was coming up to an orange rope delineating the un-groomed snow which had a bunch of bushes sticking out of the snow.

I could see that I needed to turn.

Like Butter

On Saturday I decided to unpack the speakers for my computer. I found the box they were in, but it was taped up. To open the box I needed a sharp implement. Because I had lost my pocket knife to the TSA, I grabbed the nearest such item in the room: a butter knife.

As I attempted to open the box, the knife just wouldn’t cut the tape.

I thought these things were serrated.

Inspection of the blade revealed that it wasn’t. (Looking in the utensil drawer later, it turns out half of our matching sets of butter knifes are serrated and the other half are not. Weird.)

Missing Memories

Recently, at the airport, I was in the screening line. I had half walked through the metal detector when I notice that I forgotten to take my watch off. I sheepishly took it off and held it up to the screener and he waved me through anyway.

I was on my way over to the conveyor belt to wait for my personal items when a different agent waved me over, held up my keychain, and asked,

“Is this yours?”