I used to be a big skier. It was before giving birth, being saddled with preschool costs and when I didn’t get a chill from a 60 degree cross breeze.
My husband (who was my boyfriend at the time) loved to ski too. And I was a little better than him but I never made a big thing over it except for that one time when I ironed a patch on the back of my ski jacket that read, “I’m the Better Skier.”
We once went on a ski trip to Park City, Utah where I learned very little about Mormons but a lot about how to ski for free. Rick and I decided to attend one of those timeshare presentations in order to get two complimentary lift tickets.
It was really simple enough. We pretended to be married. And pretty much just had to listen to the speil, grab our tickets and hit the mountain. We decided we had a small wedding on Cape Cod and then a lovely two week honeymoon on the gorgeous French Riviera. It was so romantic. And I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring because we had left it back in New York City for safe keeping. It’s just not safe to travel with jewels.
A very excited timeshare representative spoke to us for 45 minutes on the unparalleled joys of owning a timeshare. We listened patiently and then she said, “I’m going to give you a few minutes to think about it.” And she left the room.
“Wow. That was intense. I hope she comes back soon. I want to get out of here,” I said.
“Honey, I think we should do it!” Rick responded.
“Seriously, ski in, ski out accommodations. Plenty of room for guests. Access to a jacuzzi. We have to do this. It’s a no brainer,” Rick explained.
“You are insane. I’m not buying a timeshare. We aren’t married. Do you even remember that we aren’t married?! We aren’t even engaged!”
“And when we don’t feel like a ski vacation, we can trade it for a warm weather destination. You heard the woman. We are losing money by not doing this.”
“Let’s get engaged someday. Let’s get married someday. THEN we can talk about a time share. I’m not doing this. Seriously. I’m not,” I said in disbelief.
“We’d be right on the mountain! Our kids will love it!”
“What kids?! Oh my god!” (I would have said OMG but no one was saying that yet.)
Thankfully, the energetic time share woman re-emerged and I quickly thanked her for the opportunity, told her we’d be in touch, took the tickets and fled.
We did eventually get engaged. And married. And had kids.
And this weekend, we are taking Dylan and Summer to a small local mountain to ski for the first time. I’m guessing it will just be a very expensive way to make them whine. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’ll experience that magical feeling of whipping down a mountain.
And a decade after that trip to Park City, Utah, we have never purchased a timeshare.
Or been to the French Riviera.