Over the weekend I was riding a chairlift at Whistler with a cute blonde dressed entirely in pink. Even her skis – pink polka dots on a white background – were fashion forward. The potential for a relationship was sealed when we both got knocked down thanks to an inattentive lift operator as we were loading. After we got going again I asked her name.
“Chloe, but my friends call me Clo-Clo.”
“What’s yours?
“I’m Jack.”
“How long have you been skiing?”
“This is my 67th year. How about you?”
