I was riding up Saddleback Express with a friend one day in early December.

“Well, cuffing season is upon us,” he said, apropos of nothing.

“Ah yes, cuffing season,” I replied.

You know, that time-honored tradition where people seek out a warm body to attach with during the long, cold, lonely winter — only to break free by the first breath of spring.

“Yeah, I guess it’s time to wife up,” he sighed, staring down at the patches of sagebrush the snow hadn’t yet filled in.

“At least from now until St. Patrick’s Day,” I said.

“Exactly,” he replied. “And if you can make it to Clown Day, you better put a ring on it.”

We laughed, but only because we both knew it was true.

They say comedy is tragedy plus time. But there’s nothing funny about falling for someone in December only to have them break up with you on a Post-It note in March: “I’m sorry. I can’t. Don’t hate me.”

OK, that was from a notorious episode of “Sex and the City,” but anyone who’s ever been through a post-cuffing-season-break-up-via-text can relate, amirite?

And the un-cuffing is even worse when they happen to be a kick-ass skier. With apologies to Visit Park City’s new advertising tagline, there is nothing mountainkind about it.

See, cuffing season hits different in a ski town. I like to think of it more as “binding season.” You lock down at DIN 12 in December, only to double eject by March while moving forward in the lift line. (Don’t laugh. I literally saw this happen at PayDay last week.)

Let me explain. DIN stands for Deutsches Institut für Normung. Leave it to the Germans to set the standard for release-force settings for ski bindings. Basically, the higher the DIN, the lower the chances those bindings are ever breaking up with you, so to speak.

I turned to my group chat to find out what could make or break a binding-season fling. I mean, beyond the obvious Epic-or-Ikon question. And no worries if you haven’t found him or her yet. You have at least until the winter solstice — no pressure.

“Size 45 Euro boots are definitely a plus,” one of my friends fired back with an eggplant emoji. “Seriously, I just want someone who can play outdoors and indoors; be a friend on a pow day and then have an apres in front of the fire bingeing ‘Ted Lasso.’”

“I’m totally looking at their gear when I’m on the dating apps,” another friend said. “And, no offense, but I’m swiping left on Columbia.”

“Bring me gluten-free bagels and coffee if we meet super early to ski the Cottonwoods,” said another. “And you better get along with my badass bitches — but more importantly, I hope you can keep up with them!”

“I really do appreciate a man who can confidently rock a onesie,” my other friend replied. And by onesie, I’m pretty sure she meant a pair of Norwegian-knit boxers held up by a pair of lederhosen suspenders. Definitely not your grandma’s Stein Ericksen.

I asked one of my guy friends to chip in few thoughts on the subject as well. He listed binding-season make or breaks such as perfect helmet-hair strands, chicks who ski tele, cooking over a stove out of your Subaru, and willingness to date a resort employee. He also said he considers a Tahoe 10 to be a Park City 7. Get in line, ladies!

I personally say a gaper gap is worse than a plumber’s crack. Don’t come empty-handed to the tailgate and Offset Bier Bin Chicken FTW. And you should never, under any circumstance wear a shiny, silver Star Wars ski mask un-ironically to a ski date. Trust me, one of my friend’s binding-season prospects did and he didn’t even make it to Christmas.

Sorry not sorry, Jerry: no jeans unless you’re Donny Pelletier, no Houston handbags or Oklahoma suitcases. And I can carry my own gear, thankyouverymuch. Although if I do double-eject on a black diamond, I will definitely appreciate a hand getting up. Especially if it’s a hand wearing a glove that looks like it came from the local 7-Eleven. Don’t ask me why that’s cool, but it is.

Bonus points if you ski switch, overtip the servers at Boneyard, have a ski-tune set-up in your basement, subscribe to OpenSnow and give up a chunk of your 1987 contraband fluoro wax when my skis are sluggish on the wet snow. Just don’t expect me to give it back.

And if we do make it all the way to Clown Day, whatever you do, please don’t break up with me on a Post-It note or in a text. With binding season in full swing, I don’t think there’s any such thing as setting your expectations — or your DIN — too high.