The Pony started the day in an especially festive mood. After all, he received a bit of good news in the mailbox Wednesday, he was missing a day of school to attend the annual science fair at the local junior college, and I was driving him through Hardee's for a sausage biscuit for breakfast. PLUS his grandma was bringing him pizza for lunch so he could avoid the line of the student center grill, AND she was picking him up after the fair to spend the night at her house.
As we headed up the driveway, T-Hoe's bucking steering wheel reopened a small cut in the bendy crack of the first joint of my right hand index finger. "Ow! Look, Pony. I cut my finger last night. I should have put a BandAid on it, but I'm not going back in now."
"What did you do to it?" Let the record show that on a normal day, The Pony would not even glance up at the cut, but would either grunt, or say, "Huh." Neither with any discernible emotion. But this morning he was all caring and sharing.
"Um. You really don't want to know."
"Yes I do. What happened?"
"Well, last night, as I was removing my...er...foundation garment...one of the hooks pulled loose, and the ends opened up like a staple, and the sharp points cut my finger."
In the rearview mirror, I could see The Pony forehead-palming.
"And it's in this crack where it bends every time, and it will gap open every time I wash my hands, and it's going to take forever to heal."
"I am scrubbing that from my brain right now. No good to bring it up again. I won't know what you're talking about."
At the fair, The Pony saw an older lady walking around on the main floor, a college faculty member with her gray hair pulled back in a neck-level ponytail. "Hey. That is probably what Mrs. Colleague is going to look like when she is old."
Of course I told Mrs. Colleague. She chuckled. "Except that I'm not a lesbian."
Right before the awards were handed out for The Pony's category, in which he won 1st place, I turned to him on my left, and nodded my head over to Mrs. Colleague on my right. "You know, I told Mrs. Colleague what you said about her looking like that gray-haired lady when she's old."
"What did she say?"
"You don't want to know."