Let’s start with the tough news first. This winter we had not one, not two, not three…no, that would be seven pipes break at our lake house because of polar vortices #1 and #2. This was going to be the year to get the kids on skis for a whole season; the gear had been rented, the helmets sized. The repairs took 3 months and before we knew it, the ski hills of Northern New Jersey (they exist) were no longer open.
But the good news is that we’re back in action and were up at the lake house this weekend getting the place ready for Spring.
Which is tough when you have a hangover. This seems to be happening all too frequently, which I blame on the renovations, too much time in New York, and too many friends with early birthdays.
I go into these kinds of evenings with a strategy – stay calm, eat lots of food, drink a glass of wine, two max. Then someone orders a round of shots and the jig is up. The volume increases, the Champagne flows, and all of a sudden I’m waist-deep in a story about body waxing. Filter it! That’s at least the new plan since my inbound strategy never seems to work.
Jack always feels my pain. He’s like my hangover soul mate. The kind of supernatural being who understands my anguish and empathizes by mirroring my body language.
