...I fret about hats to the extent that I really ought to be sedated and hospitalized for twenty-four hours?
...I must deal with—horrors!—nature?
...I must share one room with my family and always end up reading in the bathroom at one o'clock in the morning?
That's right, darlings, it's time for a trek up the mountain to take part in the neighborhood ski trip. Once again the entire inn is ours, and 'round about midnight in the bar it becomes painfully apparent that the thinnest of lines separates parents' behavior from that of their children, especially if the former have indulged in one too many hot toddies.
As the group's only practitioner of teetotalism (alcohol gives me nothing but hives from the shoulders up, a throbbing headache, and bloodshot eyes—so pretty!), I come home with stories about which no other living human being is aware.
And I keep it that way.
Needless to say...
...I love the neighborhood ski trip.