Thank you Monique

The first time I went skiing, a couple buddies of mine gracefully descended the slope on the fine white powder and came to a stop at the bottom of the mountain. They were dressed in the finest ski gear available, they had to be as I grew up in a ski-town and that's where men of nineteen years met girls.

"Hey," one of my friends said to another, "where's Victor?"

Just then a ball of screaming black ski gear, wobbling from side-to-side, dashed down the mountain and zipped past them.


I jabbed the poles into the snow to stop but instead my body flew into them and I lost them.

I hit an embankment and almost went over it into an SUV. One ski flew one way and the other had my leg twisted underneath me. I looked back to my friends; most of them were doubled over in laughter. One of them was on the ground on his back he was laughing so hard.

Just then someone walked over to me. I could see her hair in the sunlight; it was a brunette and she had ski goggles pushed up onto her forehead. Her nose was red from the cold and she had large, soft brown eyes. She offered me her gloved hand and I stood up.

"First time?"
"You can tell, huh?" I said.
"Don't worry. Everyone has a first time."

We rode the ski lift back to the top of the mountain and she began showing me what I needed to know. Keep your knees bent, don't use your poles too much, and use the pie to control yourself.

Ah, the pie.

"That's not a pie," some kid said next to me, "it's called a pizza."
Go away kid. Monique is showing me the pie.

I descended the slope about ten times as slowly, with Monique next to me, occasionally holding my hand to balance me. I made it down and she gave me a hug and said, "Good job."

My friends weren't laughing anymore.

I never saw Monique again, but, I just wanted to say thanks. Not just to Monique, but to all the Moniques out there.

Photo courtesy of Yotut. 

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