Can you believe The Pony turned down a chance to see The Heat? It's Sandra Bullock! AND Melissa McCarthy! Does he not have a funny bone? I know he was born with one, unlike his unfortunate father. I'm sure The Pony's funny bone has not atrophied. Only last night, on the phone, he exhibited his droll sense of humor.
"I can tell you don't want to talk to me. So I'll hang up now."
"It's not that I don't WANT to talk to you..."
"I know. You're not much one for small talk. You can't wait to get off the phone with ANYBODY, not just me. You're just not much of a talker."
"I'm not GRANDMA."
So...he is well aware of how to set up a punchline. Responds appropriately to my humor. Perhaps I've mentioned that we hear things afoot in the Mansion. Lately, there's been a rash of soda-openings. You know, the sound a flip-top makes when you crack open a can. The Pony hears it in my office while I'm not in there. I hear it out in the main basement when The Pony isn't there. Then we have the new light-switchy sound, and closing doors upstairs to accompany the phantom footsteps.
Yesterday, the #1 son commanded The Pony to bring him a soda. We keep them in the basement mini-fridge, where The Pony hangs out, even though he doesn't drink much soda. It frees up Frig, the main kitchen stainless steel Frigidaire, for four 18-cartons of eggs, and enough spare room should Farmer H cart in some Auction Meat. The Pony sighed heavily, grabbed a Sprite (bet you thought it was going to be Diet Coke, huh) and ran it upstairs to #1's room. He huffed back down the steps. He doesn't mind bringing sodas to Farmer H, but it gets his goat to wait on the layabout #1.
I was folding boys' boxer briefs while not relaxing in Farmer H's La-Z-Boy in front of the fake fireplace. "Hey! Pony! I just heard a soda open in #1's room!"
I could hear his snort and chuckle one floor below.