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Everyone looks beautiful on a ski slope. Brightly colored ski clothes mask chubbiness, the sparkling cold air gives everyone apple-cheeks, and of course every face is dressed in a youthful smile.
One snowy day at Heavenly Ski Resort on the shore of Lake Tahoe, your humble narrator was a 13-year-old boy tearing down the mountain lickity-split, barely-under-control and frenziedly hopping onto the next chair-lift to repeat the process.
But then my skis got stuck on the plastic [STAND HERE] line. When the kind stranger to my left grabbed the collar of my jacket and yanked me up so the attendants wouldn't have to stop the chairlift.
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Once we were underway on the chair, I thanked him and did a double-take at the granny-glasses---IT WAS THAT ROCKIE-MOUNTAIN HIIIIIIGH GUY!
I was only thirteen, but knew what-was-what, so I said, "You're BOB DENVER!"
He smiled and said "No that was Gilligan."
Everyone else in the world was having great sex and understood clearly the meaning of life, but I was stumbling around like a 13-year-old bunny-slope reject and calling John Denver, "Gilligan." Poor guy probably wished he would have let me fall so he could've ridden the chairlift up the mountain in peace without being insulted by a boob on skis.
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