Perhaps I have mentioned that The Pony is not the most conscientious of housekeepers. So you can imagine my surprise when I got a text from him that said,
"You'll be sad to know I hurt myself while cleaning today! I was on the ground sorting my laundry when I bashed my hip on the bed frame corner. Sending two pictures. The injury, and the perpetrator. It was bleeding in three distinct spots earlier, but not much. It's my belly flab, right above the hip."
"NOO O O! I don't have the pictures yet, but I'm sorry you were injured. Hard to believe you were cleaning, though. Be careful, you don't have the new insurance card yet."
"YOW! That's a maiming contraption! The only thing worse would be if it was out in the sun, and seared a brand on you as well. Was this your Once-a-Two-Year Cleaning, Whether My Apartment Needs it Or Not."
"It was "I might have a date coming up next week" cleaning, but you shan't get any more details."
"Well, it seems a bit PRESUMPTUOUS to be cleaning the BEDROOM..."
"It's better than cleaning my CAR, which you once implied."
"Mayhap it is, mayhap it ain't..."
Let the record show that I am not trying to embarrass The Pony. He DID say he was folding laundry when the injury happened. And I did not show you the picture of his soft underbelly with three puncture wounds. He emphasized that he has no formal plans, just a possibility of a get-together.
What's going to become of our little Pony, in a world so fraught with danger?