My husband Doo is in the midst of planning a short ski vacation to Michigan for our six-pack this January. He is super excited about it because he loves skiing and he loves family. Bonus: three of his siblings are joining the party, along with their kids! Shared bathrooms, dangerous physical activity, and freezing cold weather! Yeah, count me out.
I’m serious. I told Doo I wasn’t going. I’m not a huge fan of repeatedly hurling myself down frozen mountains in order to justify an evening Jacuzzi and hot toddy. I much prefer the beach, where the wind doesn’t hurt your face and the only potential hazard is a portly-man-in-Speedos sighting.
Plus, it’s my birthday that weekend and this little adventure is quite literally at the bottom of the Great Ideas for Celebrating “47” list. As a middle-aged working mom, quiet is my drug of choice. Deciding which Netflix show to binge-watch is about as much sport as I can handle. And my ideal gift is to be left to my own devices in a space where I can keep an immaculately clean kitchen 24-7. Three days with in-laws, bruises and the inevitable fatigue-induced bickering, on top of unavoidable hypothermia, is a proven recipe for Cuckoo Land. No. Just no.
So, I am staying put, by myself, in cornfield-flat, moderately less chilly Indiana. Doo is disappointed but understands. We are different people with different needs, and far be it for him to stand in the way of my dream birthday. Besides, Doo gets a dream fulfilled, too, a ski trip with family! Truly win-win, with my win being warmer.