The only skiing I ever did was when I was sent to a weeklong conference at a resort in the French Alps where there were talks in the mornings and evenings, and afternoons you could go skiing or… well, there wasn’t much else. So I took lessons with a tiny woman who’d explain the next bit at great length in French to most of the group, then turn to the English speakers and say “We’re going that way” and we’d be off. Then I returned to central New York where there are things that call themselves ski slopes but I figured they’d only be several steps down from what I’d experienced so why bother. Anyway, I’d accomplished my main objective which was to have a ski tag from the French Alps on my winter jacket which enabled me to attract countless women wanting to sleep with me. There is exactly one lie in this story.