Last Friday, I went Skiing with my grandson Finn. It was cold, snowy and blowing, but the snow was fabulous. After lunch, I went to the bathrooms and since I wear a long, thirty-five years old, Descente coat when the weather is too harsh, I needed to see myself in the mirror to be able to correctly close some of the many garment snaps located right under my chin. 

My skiing companion was waiting for me outside where we had left our skis. I placed my gloves on the basket over the sink, but when I laid my Helmet upside down on the counter it wasn’t stable and kept on rolling in all directions, so I decided to secure it by placing it momentarily inside the sink. 

Suddenly, to my horror, I saw the faucet gushing water into my helmet. I took it out as fast as I could, but its interior was entirely soaking wet. These are photo-cell-activated faucets that turn on when the hands or anything foreign gets tin the way between the cell and the inside of the sink. 

I shook up my helmet, tried to dry it the best I could with paper towels and facial tissues and had no choice but put it back on my head and resume skiing in spite of the horrible wetness and freezing cold that day. Thank god, I’m a tough cookie! 

Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the meaning of that incident...