Their names and general natures remind me of the former first family, Ron and Nancy Reagan.

In an alternate universe, perhaps this would be them.

He has a rugged, all-American countenance. She has the train-wreck look of a former beauty long past her prime and not knowing it.

We dine with them the first night, they seem somewhat confused.

"You don't have gluten problems, do you, Ron?"

"No, I don't" he replies. I figure them to be a newish couple or something, get-to-know-you kind of questions.

No. Married as it turns out. Live in a mansion with wild cats.

Really. Worst part about wild cats is that the vet has to come to you and thats kind of expensive. And wild cats apparently get into the same sorts of trouble as smaller ones, just more expensive.

I decide that I will be charitable and mark up their disassociativeness with travel fatigue or perhaps one too many airline cocktails.

We meet them the next day and they really don't seem any better. Its beyond their age and its far too early for them to be drunk. I bet they share meds.

It is a constant comedy, having them in our hotel. Her leather pants and excessive furs.

"What time did you get in last night," she inquires politely the morning after we walked in the hotel together.

We answer as if we had not walked in the hotel together and politely listen to their exclamation that my goodness, we were nearly home at the same time.

What happens in Bormio stays in Bormio, but I think they're probably still like this someplace else.

There is a certain indignity in knowing that they are this spacey and yet still manage to be rich.

I watch her go teetering down to ski storage one night concerned for her well being and know she doesn't drink but wondering what sort of medication she must be on and how I could get my hands on some.

This being said they were certainly respectable skiers, making the rounds nearly every day and only once skiing into the wrong town and having to take a taxi back.