sledding is my life

Sledding Is my life. I admit it. I have been denying it for about 23 minutes now, but there's no use. I am a sledding addict. A sledaholic, if you will.

So does that make me less of a man?

Now that we got that out of the way, I feel like I should make other confessions to you, the reader, who I feel so close to, in that "reading my log files and knowing you only by an IP address" kind of way. It's like I've known you all my life.

Wait, I did.

I remember you now. You're that kid who used to follow me home from school!

You'd always tag along, and even when I got mean and would stick you in a garbage can and roll you down the hills of San Francisco, you'd still follow me!

Persistence, I'll give you that much. Never saw a kid be so ridiculed and harassed. I'd swear you would have just stayed home and cried all day.

I never did figure out why you tried to follow me home every day. Were you a pervert? Some stalker wannabe? Or did you just want to get home first so that mom would think you were the better child?