This weekend I was in Tahoe with my husband. We were celebrating our anniversary, and it was all-in-all a very pleasant time. We rented a lovely cabin, ate meals with no high chair, and didn't have to bathe anyone but ourselves. Fantastic time.
However, I spent most of the past two days in considerable pain. My knees are killing me, and it's all my own fault. I have forgotten that I'm not 15.
We spent Saturday walking around the village at North Star, where they had an ice rink. After lunch, and a glass of wine, I said to my husband: "We should go ice skating. It would be so romantic." HA!
After two seconds on the ice, I realized my fantasies of skating hand in hand with Justin were out-of-this-world crazy. We can't do anything together. It would requires one to follow the other one...nope, not happening.
So we skate on our lonesomes, but it's actually rather fun, when you get past the ankle pain and gasping for breath. We are somewhat racing each other and marveling at the little six-year olds whipping past us. Justin reaches his exercise breaking point, and I say I'm going to take one more circle around, which I totally know is a BAD idea.
I'm starting to pick up speed, and I'm feeling confident, which is never a good thing in these situations. And BAM! I'm on my knees. And I want to cry so bad cause it HURTS. Of course, I'm wearing a big orange jacket, so it's not like I'm hard to notice.
My first thought is "Crap, did Justin see?" Of course he did. I can hear him laughing from the other side of the rink. Needless to say, skating is not my friend.
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