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Sarah Schaffner,
MFA, is a freelance writer based out of Baltimore, MD. While
humorous essays are one of her specialties, she also writes
feature length films and contributes to national pet and lifestyle
magazines.
My
husband and I spend a lot of quality time together. Between
running a business together, preparing for a baby, and living
under the same roof, theres a lot of face time. Still,
aside from the occasional scuffle:
Why do you put the peanut butter in the fridge? It
gets all hard and cold and wont spread evenly. Who puts
peanut butter in the fridge? Cavemen, thats who. Not since
the invention of the wheel have people put peanut butter in
the fridge.
Yeah well, you snore.
We manage to remain on a relatively even keel. Or so I thought.
The night started out with an innocent game of Scattergories;
a board game where you roll an alphabet die to determine a
letter for which players use to name a series of items, beginning
with that particular letter. For some reason, whenever we
play this game, Jeff becomes an evil genius with an unparalleled
mastery of all languages, while I cant for the life of me
think of a single food source for squirrels that begins with
the letter N. I usually leave most of my page blank except
for the occasional frowny face I doodle in the corners.Yet,
this particular night, when it came time to read our answers
aloud, I had actually managed to scribble down a few. The
category was Bad Habits.
Nagging, I read off proudly.
You would know all about that, he muttered.
I could see from the instant look of panic registering across
his face that he had meant to simply think those words in
his heada little joke between him and his subconscious.
So no one was more surprised than he to hear them coming out
of his mouth like some unstoppable, runaway train.
I like to think I handled it like any hormonal, six-month
pregnant woman would. After the crying and yelling subsided,
and the last board game piece was retrieved from where it
had been hurled across the room, we decided: It was time for
a little getaway.
Now, I dont ski. I tried once. And while the large
trees seemed to pose no concern to the hundreds of other skiers
gracing the slopes that day, I was so engrossed with
how terrifying they were that I could not stop myself from
skiing directly into them. It only takes one toboggan ride
down the thirty feet of bunny hill as seven-year-olds swoosh
by you to determine that skiing perhaps is not for you. Jeff,
however, is an expert skier and was ecstatic about the prospect
of a late-winter weekend at Snowshoe Mountain Ski Resort.
I was sold by the promise of hot chocolate and a fireplace.
One of the first things we discovered upon arriving was the
complete and total lack of cell phone service...anywhere on
the mountain. Nope! No cell service at all on the mountain!
The front desk clerk informed us cheerily, clicking away on
the computer keys, seemingly impervious to our terror-stricken
faces. Three days without cell phones??? What if something
horrible happened at home? What if something horrible happened
to the business? What if I needed Jeff to bring me a bag of
Cheetos from the lodge? How could we possibly be out of touch
with the outside world, unable to express any thought we had
at the exact moment we felt like it? Was she crazy? Now, I
realize the world functioned without cell phones for a good
few years or so, but my question is
how? Finally,
mildly appeased with the information that we would have high-speed
Internet in our rooms (Thank god! I mean, what is thisthe
dark ages?), we were ready to hurry up and de-stress.
With Jeff out the door at first light the next morning, I
got ready to explore all the condos amenities, namely, the
heated indoor pool. I was not so light of heart, however,
when I found I could not pull my bathing suit up over my pregnant
belly. In a last minute mad dash through Target, I had grabbed
the largest bathing suit I could find, figuring I had a few
months before I needed a maternity suit. Wrong. After a few
futile tugs at the stubborn material hovering around my midsection,
I gave up. Undaunted, I decided I would just go for a walk,
commune with nature, etc.
The temperature pronounced it a brisk negative one outside,
and the biting wind whipped the snow around my face with such
ferocity that I could not actually keep my eyes open for any
extended period of time. But with a few furtive glances I
soaked in all the beauty of the snow-capped mountains, and
would have smiled if my lips werent frozen and refusing to
part without the substantial tearing of skin.
All alone, I headed down a walking path alongside some private
houses lined with snow-covered trees. I noticed one of the
houses had decorated the property with some fake deer. How
scenic, I thought to myself, until one of the fake deer
lifted its head to watch me approach. Oh right! Im in
nature. Those are real deer. They live here. I tiptoed closer
to get a better look at these beautiful creatures. Thats
when I saw them. Deer everywhere. Grazing by the houses,
in the woods, on the path. There must have been about fifty.
God, Ive never seen so many deer, I thought. I looked
around to see if anyone else was witnessing this, but it was
just me. Hmmm. They dont seem scared of me at all. In
fact, some of them are actually walking towards me. Wait,
why are they all staring at me? Are the ones with pointy horns
dangerous? The only deer I had ever come into contact with
was at a petting zoo, where I was quickly scooped up by my
dad when of the larger male deer knocked over a little boy
and almost trampled him. And here I was clearly outnumbered.
What if they decided to revolt? It was like Hitchcocks
The Birds, with antlers.
Suddenly terrified, I turned to make a hasty retreat (okay,
slow waddle) and promptly stepped into a massive snow bank
which quickly began to soak through my shoes and jeans. When
I finally made it back, I peeled off my frozen clothes, and
propped my feet by the fire, where I remained for the rest
of the trip. It was too dangerous out there. Thankfully, Jeff
had his fill of skiing to last until next winter; and driving
back over the mountains of West Virginia, I clapped with glee
when I heard the familiar beep of my cell phone signaling
we were back in range. Time to call everyone about everything!
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