The Pony Is A Silver-Tongued Devil

The Pony is going to prom again this year. Same dance, different date.

Tuesday, we went to rent a tux. Of course he got the trainee who had only taken two tux orders in her fledgling career. Thank the Gummi Mary, one of the owners of the establishment told her she wanted to watch her take The Pony’s measurements. First of all, when she needed to measure his waist at the belly-button area, she had the tape measure way up at the bottom of his ribs. As the owner said, “I don’t think his belly button is that high. Have him point it out to you.” Then, on the same measurement, the owner had to tell her as she read off the number, “Your hand is inside the tape. We don’t need anybody’s pants falling down because you measured the waist too large.” We’ll see how this turns out.

The Pony’s date happens to be in one of my classes. She was talking about prom before class. I said that The Pony had reserved his tux. And that he hoped the vest color matched her dress, because the girl taking the order took a look at the picture on his phone, and said, “Is your maximum brightness on?” I also informed her that The Pony’s truck has no heat or air conditioning, so we should hope for temperate weather on prom night. Date said, “I have a hoop skirt. I hope I fit in the truck.” I shared this information with The Pony on the way home.

“I’m sure your seat moves back. If it works!”

“It works.”

“So you might tell her that it will move back. But not in front of people! And not so it makes her feel awkward.”

“Heh. Heh. I can say, ‘I moved the seat back as far as it would go. Hopefully, you’ll fit.’”

“Stop! You’re cracking me up. You wouldn’t really do that, would you?”

“Meh. Probably not.”

That little girl doesn’t know what she’s in for.