Downhill

Story Sent in by Virgil:

For my first date with Lana, I had a brilliant plan: sledding. There wasn't much more to it than that. There was a place in town that made its own cider and hot chocolate, and I figured that we could go there to warm up after spending a while on the slope. When I told her the idea, she loved it.

I arrived at the top of the hill with my bowl-shaped sled. Un-steerable in the extreme, it truly represented the pinnacle of sled engineering. Lana arrived with... no sled.

"Where's your sled?" I asked her.

She said, "I thought you were bringing one for me."

"It's okay," I told her, trying to be nice, "We can share mine."

She said, "No. I've seen this trick, before. I climb onto your lap on there, and the next thing I know, hello Mr. Happy. We'll take turns, if you please."

It made me sad to think:

1. The childhood innocence of sledding was forever marred within her.
2. It was assumed that my plan was to get her on my lap and introduce her to "Mr. Happy," whoever he was.

I reassured her that my intents were noble, but she would have no part of it. So instead of it being a fun bonding activity, sledding became a stupid I'll-just-stand-here-while-you-go-downhill-alone activity.

I decided to cut sledding short, as a result, and I asked her if she still wanted to go to Wesley's, the place with the killer hot cocoa. She did, and I thought that perhaps, finally, we'd have a chance to get to know each other a bit better.

At Wesley's, we sat down at a table, and the date actually did get better. She was pretty funny, and I thought that perhaps she had just been handed a bad hand of cards, and that it would just take her some time to trust me. I understood, and it was okay.

We had driven to Wesley's separately, and when it came time to go, we went outside, and I turned to her to say goodbye.

She asked, "Where's my sled?"

I reminded her, "You didn't bring a sled. Remember? We used mine the whole time."

She replied, "Yeah, that's my sled. Do you have it in your car?"

I said, "Uh, it's actually my sled. You didn't bring one."

She asked me, "Are you sure?" a few times.

Each time, I was more sure than the last. She said, "Because I'm pretty sure that I'm being robbed, here."

I assured, reassured, and re-reassured her that nothing of the sort was happening. She gave me a not-so-convincing, "Okay..." and we parted ways.

Afterward, I wrote her a non-committal "I had a good time with you" email, and she never wrote back. Probably all for the best. If sledding is that corrupted for you, then you haven't much hope in this life.