I want to ski and party, not have a party debate.

We shared a ski house last winter with several couples. One particular person, “Angie,” got on everyone’s nerves with her extremely vocal expression of her political views. We didn’t want to get into a debate over whose fault the recession was—we wanted to ski and drink beer. Nobody wants her in the house this year, but she’s really into it and no one is willing to tell her she’s not welcome. What would you do? Would you say something, or would you suffer all winter listening to her shouting about mid-term elections and soldiers in Afghanistan?

I would suffer. I know, I know, you’re looking for me to give you something sassy and irreverent to say that will magically get her to voluntarily quit the house, and let you have a fun, snowy, guilt-free ski season. Sor.

(A side note on sor: this is the single most infuriating thing I can say to my husband. It drives him insane. It means I’m half sorry—get it? Sor?—which really secretly means I’m not sorry at all. Or, as my poor husband says, what it really means is, I’m not sorry at all, sofuckyou!)

I assume Angie is a good friend of someone who’s in your ski house. The only person who can really ask boring old Angie not to join you this winter is that person, and that person should only do it if she wants to feel like crap for the rest of the year. Because every Friday when she arrives and unloads her skis and takes off her Ugg boots and settles herself down in a comfy chair by the recliner with a hot toddy and a handsome man, she’s going to immediately think of sad little Angie sitting at home by herself in the city, sad-angry and reading the Drudge Report in her slippers and Sarah Palin Ain’t Scared She’ll Shoot A Moose Or a Democrat! t-shirt.

It’s best to just let Angie come and whenever she tries to steer the conversation in a political direction, say, “You’re so passionate about politics. And I’m passionate about beer pong! Let’s go get a game started,” or, “George Bush was amazing. And did you know he went to Yale? My sister’s next door neighbor went to Yale, and she said they had the best diner in New Haven where you could get a six-egg omelette. Have you ever eaten six eggs at once?” Distract! Disarm! If everyone refuses to participate, she’ll eventually give up.

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