I believed in this until one day I got a good look at myself after a hard day of skiing. Most days the only part of my face showing through is my nose—my very runny nose. Due to my height and lack of figure with the bulky clothing, I look like I’m twelve, and often get asked where I go to school. When I do strip a layer at the end of the day, my face is bright red, I have helmet hair, and I’m wearing some not so flattering stretchy pants.
Men are physical creatures—and while most will date someone less than supermodel—they usually want to see what they’re getting. My best chance of meeting a man skiing would be to hang out at the lodge in some ubër cute ski outfit (one layer, not three) that has and will never see snow. I would sit by the fire and congratulate all the menfolk on their great feats of daring.
If I ever do this, may someone hit me over the head with my own ski because life will have ceased to be worth living.
I will probably never meet a guy on the lift, and I’m okay with that.