The Pony was as antsy as a bird-brained ferret on energy drinks when he left Saturday morning for Boys State.
"Do you have your shampoo and deodorant and soap and toothpaste and toothbrush and shaver?"
"My soap is the same as my shampoo."
"Do you have your comb?"
"No. I was going to get that. Who took my folio?"
"Nobody took your folio."
"Dad moved it. It was right there on top of the suitcase with my papers to turn in."
"You put those in your packsack. And the folio, too."
"No. I left the folio."
"Huh. Who put that there?"
"Do you have a binder? The instructions suggested a binder."
"No. I have the folio with the legal pad. But I have plenty of binders. So I'll get one, because they'll probably have hole-punched handouts."
"Did you pick up the money I laid out for you?"
"No. I thought Dad was going to get it."
"What about an old pair of glasses?"
"I won't need them."
"You have to play a sport every night. If your glasses get smashed, you won't be able to see for the rest of the week."
"They used to be on that table, but YOU made me clean it off."
"Well, then if they're not back on the table, they are on the dresser in your room. You never put anything away. You just pile it. Go look."
"I found an old pair of glasses, but they have tape holding on the ear piece."
"It's holding, isn't it? Better than being blind. Pack them."
"We're leaving now."
"WAIT! You're supposed to read this booklet you said you would look at on the drive there."
"I know. It's in my packsack."
"Funny how I see its red, white, and blue cover laying here on the couch beside where your packsack was."
"Oh. I thought I packed it. Okay. We're leaving."
"Have a good time."
I don't know what's wrong with the little fellow. He's usually much more together than that.