Pride Cometh Before My Fall

Reentry after our week-long Utah vacation has not been smooth and we are still sick. For those keeping track, I have been ill more days than I have been well since January. Evidently my condition is contagious because my laptop blue-screened. Jamie was able to resurrect it but not without having to wipe out my entire hard drive that includes my mailing address book, Google Reader and bookmarks to your blogs.

I sometimes feel like 2009 has it out for me.

So, let me reflect upon better times. We stayed with Jamie’s sister Tammy in Salt Lake City who is the ultimate hostess. Our guest bedroom had designer sheets, fresh flowers and a jelly belly elf who magically refilled our candy tray when we weren’t looking. I am convinced Tammy is Martha Stewart Incarnate because she loves to cook gourmet meals and organize. Jamie claims this began when she was little. While he was at school, she would go into his bedroom and organize his drawers.

For fun.

My idea of entertainment is a lot different and usually involves blood, sweat or tears. Or sometimes all three.

Jamie’s brother and brother-in-law joined us on the slopes one day in Park City and we had a great time skiing with them. Most of the time. I thought that mogul run when I crossed my tips and landed face-first was the worst of it.

I was wrong.

It [literally] went downhill when we discovered Park City Mountain Resort’s Terrain Park. I attempted one jump and Jamie mocked me to no end that I snowplowed prior to take-off.

In my defense, I was going waaaaaay too fast for my comfort.

It was then that I decided I’d better leave the jumps, rails and funboxes to the guys. I opted to be their photographer so as to survive with body in tact. Oh, how disillusioned I was.

I took one set of pictures of them catapulting off jumps. I was ready to wrap it up but pride cometh before the fall. Or rather, my fall because they begged me to take more pictures of them in their element.

I obligingly skied ahead of them, parked myself to the right of the jump and beckoned Jamie to come down. I focused my camera on him and awaited his arrival when all of a sudden, there were stars, stripes, blood, sweat and tears all rolled into one: I got slammed into by a snowboarder. Hard.

It was obviously an accident and after my verbal assault, he apologized profusely and helped me collect my belongings. The camera and poles had been launched several feet away and when I looked down, there was blood: a lot of it. The man’s helmet had connected with my lips, resulting in a large cuts on the right-hand upper lip and left-hand lower lip.

Because heaven forbid the swelling should result in uniform, luscious Angelina Jolie lips.

It was not a good day for my face.

Thus begs the question: whose mug is worse? Hers–
Or mine?

Maybe that Martha is onto something.

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