The Pony put a foot wrong. It's true. Like Rooster Cogburn's horse, Bo, in True Grit. But unlike Bo, The Pony did not cause me to topple from his back onto terra firma, maybe or maybe not with a snootful of whiskey.
I was in the kitchen, putting away the weekly harvest from The Devil's Playground. My trusty assistant, The Pony, sidled up to see what was next on his disbursement list. I've really gotta get that boy some Tic Tacs to carry in his pocket so I can hear him coming.
I turned to tell him what to do, and I felt a sickening squish under my left foot. Not completely under it, like the time I stepped on a gray-and-black-spotted slug on the front sidewalk of my old house. The $17,000 house in town. No, this was a glancing squish. On the outer edge of my foot. Halfway between the toes and the heel. My stomach did a sloppy somersault. Not a Mary Lou Retton or Olga Korbut medal-worthy somersault. A come untucked midway through, middle-school gym class kind of somersault.
In my mind, The Pony's boy-hoof was trapped between burgundy-patterned linoleum and my white leather New Balance. I resisted the urge to scream like a singing slug in the cartoon movie Flushed Away. The Pony inhaled sharply. He pulled his base of support back under his center of gravity. There's a science lesson in here somewhere.
The image of a love child born of Stretch Armstrong and Gumby flitted through my brain. A pliable love child with a Silly-Putty-like wee-wee-wee toe about to do a rubber-band impersonation. Not the most comforting image.
The Pony and I looked down at the same time. I raised my foot and he yanked his back. "Good thing that was only my sock!" Indeed. I am SO glad that I bought The Pony that 10-pack of cushy, ankle-high, gray-bottomed athletic socks with room to grow in on a previous outing to The Devil's Playground.
A tragedy was narrowly averted. I am not keen on calling my Pony "Nub."
3 comments:
Two belly-laughs from this post. Thanks, Val.
Well, when you make forays into the Devil's Playground (or, as my husband calls it, the Evil Empire), bad things happen.
Consider it a warning...
Sioux,
What are you, some kind of freaky bovine hybrid? TWO belly-laughs must mean TWO bellies. And who is this "Val" of whom you speak? Has Farmer H been two-timing me with another Devil's Playground shopper?
Yes, he has. I saw this woman Val on the "People of Walmart" site. At least I think it was her. And I THINK it was Farmer H. However, I could be wrong.
And hey--don't disrespect my belly. It's big enough to make two separate stomachs but no...it's only one.
Post a Comment