My Arm Is Kind Of Sore From Grabbing That Climbing-In Handle By T-Hoe's Shotgun Seat

We had to stop by The Devil’s Playground on Tuesday afternoon for some last-minute feast preparation items. Let the record show that The Pony has been volunteering to drive lately. Must have something to do with wanting to escape my clutches and attend college. Even though he was set to take the wheel last Friday, and changed his mind as we walked out of the school building to T-Hoe. As we exited the Playground, The Pony again volunteered.

“Okay. Do you want me to get you off the lot? They’re kind of busy today.”

“Yeah. It’s hard for me to back out.”

“Me too, with that backup beeper broken for a year and a half now.”

So…I wove through the wayward walkers, jammed on the brakes for the pull-out people, and swung T-Hoe into the old Sonic driveway to switch over. The Pony did not want to adjust the seat. I have it all the way back. Farmer H pulls it forward until his belly butts up against the wheel. We have the controls set for each of us.

“Go ahead, Pony. You can move the seat closer. It will go right back when I push my button.”

“No. I’ll hunch forward anyway. It’s fine. Now let me see where everything is. Blinker. Mirrors. Okay. I’m ready.”

Let the record show that T-Hoe is a large SUV. Bigger than The Pony’s little Ford Ranger. Bigger than the Chevy Blazer that Farmer H took over from my mom. So The Pony was really out of his comfort zone with all those horses under the hood. He has driven me twice before. Maybe once.

Upon making a left from the Sonic lot onto the outer road, The Pony gassed T-Hoe aggressively. Even though he does not like to drive fast.

“Watch it there.”

“Yeah. I’m just getting used to this car.”

“The speed limit is 30 along here. Um. Twenty is fine.”

“Uh huh. And after the bridge here, it’s 45. Okay. That guy is on his own side.”

We tooled along at 30 mph. Slower up the hills.

“Okay. Watch your speed here. We’re starting downhill. PUT YOUR FOOT ON THE BRAKE! This curve will eat you up.”

“It’s on the brake. I’ve got it.”

We made it to the new section of road behind the high school where The Pony would attend if I didn’t bring him to Newmentia with me.

“The speed limit here it 30.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to go 20. It’s straight. A smooth road.”

“Yes. But there’s a tailgater behind me, and I’m teaching him a lesson.”

“Do as I say, not as I do. I at least go the speed limit when I teach people a lesson.”

“Okay.”

“Here’s the roundabout. Do you know what to watch for?”

“Uh huh.”

“I guess that guy went on around?”

“No. He’s still behind us.”

“Wishing he was never born, I imagine.”

We made it past the prison. Across the bridge over the big river.

“Hey! They patched that deep hole today. Great timing. You didn’t have to swerve or knock a tire off the rim. Good. You have your signal on. Slow down a little! Now, make your turn. WHOA! Hit the brake!”

“I was just turning like you said.”

“You know you can use your brake during a turn…”

“Oh. Good to know.”

“Seriously. You didn’t know that?”

“I did not. Is that why you keep grabbing the OH-BEEP handle?”

“Heh, heh. Well…kind of. It just takes practice. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Maybe his dad needs to spend more time with this driving practice.