Tales from the Lift Lines V: Pack Rat
“I wish you had a backpack!”
We’d stopped to get rid of some layers. It was January, but we were hot. As I unzipped my daughter’s jacket, I realized she had three layers beneath her lined jacket.
I pulled her long-sleeved fleece through the arms of her vest, rolled it over a couple of times, and tied it around her waist.
“But I’ll look fat with a big tire around me!” she said.
“You’re nine.” I replied.
“Why don’t you have a backpack of your own?” Michael asked. I had just put my vest in his pack. Earlier I’d stowed my extra contact lenses and my just-in-case glasses and my spare chocolate with him.
“I do,” I said. “It’s in the locker room.”
“Well, maybe you should wear it while you’re actually skiing.”