E and I are on the chairlift headed up to our new favorite run when I see the boys. They had come down our bunny hill looking for us. I yell. He turns; he's heard his name, but there's no way he'll spot us. So I decide to call them.
While reaching for my phone, I accidentally pull everything out of my pocket. Everything including my wallet, which for the time being is just my cards and cash secured with a hair tie. It plummets down and lands in the snow under the chairlift. Just my luck.
We get off and ride down the hill. K, who rode up and back down in the time it took us to get down, is stopped right where I need to go under the ropes to go start the search. He is kind enough to ski over to the spot and dig around. There is a moment of hesitation where it occurs to me that it might be time to panic, but he comes up triumphant.
"You know," he says to me, "for someone who claims to have never lost a wallet, you're having a rough couple of weeks."
I agree.
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