My little Pony is a regular Mother Teresa. He donates funds anonymously to assist the teeming masses who might need monetary assistance. That they are MY funds he is donating are of no consequence to him. He never gives the action a second thought. Or a first thought, even.
Yesterday at the science fair, he had pizza delivered to him by his grandma. She's a peach. Always willing to help. She made a run to Little Caesar's to pick up a pizza for The Pony, and also one for another fair participant. She was on her way to the bank, anyway, and Little Caesar's is just down the street.
I did not want to fight the throng of middle school marauders who invaded the college restaurant. I figured I could have some of The Pony's pizza, but none of his Sierra Mist. I forked over two dollars and asked him to weave through the food mob to the vending machine for a bottle of juice. The Pony performed his mission admirably. He scored a bottle of grape juice, which he later told me was actually grape-cranberry, but he didn't think I'd notice.
On our way home, after a sidetrack to school, we stopped at The Devil's Playground to do the weekly shopping. I always give The Pony two dollars for the game room. He said that he thought today he needed three, after the stress of sitting and doing nothing most of the science fair. Once in the parking lot, I dug through my bills. No ones. Only fives. I had given my ones in change to the kid buying a pizza, and to The Pony for the vending machine. I figured he could have his gaming money in quarters.
"So...did you have some change for me after buying the juice?"
"Seriously? That juice cost two dollars?"
"Then why don't you have change?"
"I forgot to get it. It was only two quarters."
"ONLY two quarters? You can't just leave your--MY--change behind like that! I've told you before."
"I know. I just didn't think of it."
The Pony has a lot to learn about life detached from my apron strings. On the flip side of my two coins, I'm sure he made some juvenile juice-drinker very happy.
Because I'm a sucker for the sad look of the soft-hearted Pony, I gave him a five-dollar bill. "Does that racing game take fives?"
"I don't know, but there's a change machine in the game room."
The Pony returned when I had barely served five of my twenty minutes in the checkout line. "What's the matter? Is your game broken? Somebody using it?"
"No. The changer didn't work."
I suppose I'm lucky like that. Even Steven returning my karma for trusting The Pony with a five. Because I'm not so sure that The Pony would have gathered up ALL the change from the changer. It would be so like him to pick out three dollars of quarters, and let the rest lay there in the coin return thingy.