A slice of cheese on your pie wedge.

I've spent the last two days with my feet encased in concrete blocks that I snapped into two long, slick as snot pieces of plastic things. In each hand I gripped a four foot long stabbing device that my son swears is the coolest swords he's ever seen.

The only thing I feel from my knee to my ankle is PAIN! I can't feel my big toes. I have bruises dotting my legs like a sweet little girls dress made of that polka dotted material, what is that called? My mom says, "It's Swiss." No, that's not it. "Yes it is, it's Swiss. Go on the Internet and find it." I'm on the internet. "It's dotted Swiss." Okay.

My legs look like dotted Swiss, the material not the cheese. Although, I've got cottage cheese on my thighs and my hair was smelling a bit like hair dyer Cheddar today. Does anyone have a cracker, cuz I got the cheese?

No, the picture is not of me. I'm the person making the perfectly shaped pie wedge all the way down the slopes.

I taught Clay, Ellen and Seth to ski yesterday. They are doing amazingly well. They said my method of yelling, "PIE WEDGE! PIE WEDGE! PIE WEDGE!!!" is very effective and the other ski instructors should learn from me.