Monkey Business

kimmy boards the train to pain

Thursday, March 18, 9:30 a.m.

I. Am. In. Serious. Pain.

“Time to get up,” Russ says, jumping out of bed.

Can’t. Move. “Ghjrfhft,” I groan.

“Ready to get going?”

Going? Going back under the covers. “Going where?”

He laughs. “What do you mean, where? Boarding.”

He wants to go snowboarding…again? “I can barely move from boarding yesterday.”

We flew into Montreal on Monday, spent two days touring, then rented a car to drive up to Tremblant. Apparently my dreams of slaloming were outdated. “No one skis anymore, Kimmy,” Russ said. “We board.”

It was fun at first. The sky was a brilliant blue, the air fresh, the sun warm on my face. I wore my new ski pants and puffy jacket (what debt?), sunglasses and gloves, and rented boots and a board. We took the chairlift up, and up and up, stood at the top of the mountain and…

I fell. Again and again. And again. Russ was a champion at it, flying from side to side. Show-off.

“I was thinking that today could be a cuddle-by-the-fire-place-and-drink-Baileys day,” I say hopefully.

“But we paid for two days of boarding.”

Does he always have to be doing something? “But I want to relax.”

“But it’s beautiful out.”

But, but, but. My butt is killing me from all that falling. “But I’m not a good boarder.”

“You won’t get better by not practicing.”

Even talking to him is exhausting. “Can’t we just relax? We’ve been running around all week.” We’ve shopped, we’ve Metroed, we’ve boarded and we’ve hiked. Ever since his hand has healed he’s wanted to do every possible activity imaginable. “This is spring break, not spring workout.”

“I was happy to stay at the Zoo for the break. You were the one who wanted to get away.”

“Get away for a vacation. Not to make myself even more worn-out.”

“But we’re here. Let’s not waste any time.”

“Since when is relaxing a waste of time?” Is cuddling a waste of time? Next he’ll be saying that being with me is a waste of time.

“But the tickets!” he says, jutting out his chin.

“So go.” I storm out of the bed and go to the bathroom.

Sometimes he’s so annoying. I sit on the toilet, and then see a splotch of red in my panties. Shit. I’m bleeding. It’s my period. Damn. I don’t know if I should be happy or upset. On one hand, I’m relieved I’m not pregnant; on the other hand, I can’t believe I got it now.

Damn. I’ve ruined the vacation. He’s going to start fantasizing about someone else. He’ll meet some sexy boarder on the hill who knows all the right moves, and he’ll forget all about me. And then who will I live with this summer? Not that he’s asked me yet, but why wouldn’t he? There is no point in us having our own places when we sleep in the same bed every night, anyway. I haven’t suggested it outright yet, but I’ve been hinting. I’d prefer if he came up with it on his own. Unfortunately, I don’t think skipping boarding will help my cause.

I find my emergency tampon in my makeup case, then turn the shower on and call, “We better hurry if we want to hit the slopes.”

The bathroom is full of steam. He steps into the shower and I wrap my arms around his chest. If I give him a blow job now, he might want to skip sex tonight. Here’s hoping that the slopes wear him out.