Drink milk.

When Scott and I go skiing, we have a little lunchtime ritual: chocolate milk. It's that simple. Something that seems so decadent on a normal day becomes much needed fuel on a powder day.

So the first day of skiing this season, after six-months without a taste of chocolate milk (or of carving smooth turns in snow), I was looking forward to the fulfillment of a long, cold slurp of the stuff. I was particularly looking forward to it as the skiing that day had been dampened by bit of a classic wet coast weather, and we were soaked right down to our long underwear.

The ski lodge cafeteria was packed to the gills and full of sweaty loud bodies. While Scott loosened the buckles on his ski boots, I fought through the crowd to find our treats: chocolate milk and chocolate chip cookies, which I was sure would replenish our energy and mood enough to return to the wet afternoon. Moving as quickly as the crowds and ski boots would allow, I battled the lines and returned to Scott. Who looked confused when I sat down.

"What," he said, "are we on a health kick or something?"

Nooo... why?

"Because that's regular milk you've got there."

#$&%@! Well at least I've still got the chocolate chip cookies.

"Nope, that's oatmeal raisin you've got there."

#$&%@!!
#$&%@!!

I cannot even express my disappointment and rage towards Dairyland for unclear labelling (I've since gotten over it). But no way was I going to fight the crowd again. Anyway, cookies and milk isn't bad.

It just isn't great.

After drinking our plain milk with woeful faces, we pulled on our gloves. They were heavy and wet and cold. It was that moment when we decided that yes, this would in fact be the last run of the day. 'Cause sometimes, you just gotta give in and let go of the dream.

Epilogue: since the milk debacle occurred, we have gone skiing again. I'm delighted to report that the weather was great, the powder was deep, the chocolate milk was in stock and the chocolate chip cookies were delicious.