The Pony is my partner-in-whine every week at The Devil's Playground. We both hate the process of procuring the week's staples.
I bribe The Pony with two dollars for the game room. Shh...he thinks I am giving him two dollars because I love him and wish for him to enjoy our outings and hope he can score some grabber-machine jewelry for my mom's birthday. The Pony is happiest when he has a mission to complete. It makes the time pass faster. I send him to the far reaches of The Devil's Playground to save myself some steps. On Friday, he hustled over to the pharmacy for toothpaste and antiperspirant, back to office supplies for two-sided tape for the #1 son's photo projects, across to the paper plates, down the chip aisle for his bag-lunch Cheetos, and then up front to the bread and produce to meet me. From there, I provided him with a new task, to retrieve a can of white meat chicken, and a can of albacore tuna in water.
One thing I might not have mentioned about The Pony...he is accurate, but lacks attention to detail. That's to say, he always returns with the correct brands and sizes. But he misses certain quality clues. He might grab the loaf of bread with a deep crevasse down the top, rendering 25% less usable surface. I had to teach him to gently turn the can of Pringles upside down to listen for the shards of breakage. Giant packages of toilet paper rolls should not have the wrapper sliced open from accidental or intentional box-cutting incidents.
Back home, putting away the provisions, I discovered a Ponyism. The can of white meat chicken was severely dented on the back bottom side. The Pony said, "Huh. It's the right kind, isn't it? You told me that when I brought it to the cart. YOU said it was okay."
I'm learning to wear my quality control hat. The one The Pony picked out for me, with the unraveled stitching and the off-center logo.