Pony To The Infirmary, STAT!

Pity my poor little Pony. He came home from Grandma's on Sunday with a blister on the pinky toe side of his right hoof. Grandma called during his visit to let me know. She wanted to know if she could treat it with something. Um. NO. Because the last thing she treated was her own hangnail, which resulted in a FAT RED PINKY FINGER that an osteopath wanted to amputate. She went round and round and got a second opinion because I insisted, and had it surgically cleaned down to the bone, but not amputated. So excuse me for not wanting her to work her first aid magic on my precious Pony. I know the most recent supplies in her house have to be the fresh triple antibiotic ointment I made her buy in 2006 for the FAT RED PINKY FINGER. And I suspect that she still has some 1980s-era Bactine-soaked cotton balls in a pill bottle in her downstairs bathroom closet.

The Pony also came down with a cold on Sunday evening. I can not find his favorite cough medicine anywhere. He's down to the last dose.

Last night, our helpful loyal Pony slammed his own finger in the front door of the Mansion while relaying a phone message to Goat Baron H. It's his bad finger. Just below the nail bed. I think he's going to lose the fingernail.

Thank the Gummi Mary, Even Steven is looking out for The Pony. He might get picked up by Grandma after school on Friday, and get to spend the night.

If he survives the rest of the week without further injury.

Sixth Sixth Sixth. The Mark Of The Devil's Playground.

At the Devil's Playground, you're always 6th in line. Wasn't that their slogan a few years back. Oh, no. You're right. The slogan was, "You're always NEXT in line." Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Now I've nearly given myself a hernia laughing.

I stopped by The Playground after school, to pick up some cough medicine for The Pony. Poor little critter. He picked up a bug over the weekend. I'm thinking he got it at bowling league on Saturday afternoon, because the headache and sore throat started Sunday night. But he could easily have contracted it from the #1 son, what with the sharing of remotes and refrigerator door handles and bathroom faucets.

The Pony asked to wait in T-Hoe, so I let him. I don't think it's against the law anymore, now that he's thirteen. And I put all the windows down. After all, I was just running in for a minute, for ONE item. The cough medicine. Which of course The Devil seems to have discontinued, as with all products one prefers. So I grabbed a poor substitute that was only grape flavored, not red grape flavored, and got in line. Behind five other customers.

Yeah. I though surely there would be more than five lanes open in a SuperPlayground at 4:30 on a weekday afternoon. Or at least a 20 items or less line at each end. Nope. And, there were two ladies behind me. Seventh and eighth in line.

I was not a happy player at The Playground. First of all, my beloved Pony was in a hot T-Hoe, sniffling and snorting. Secondly, the customers in front of me were paying by check. Why couldn't they just whip out some plastic. Debit, credit, EBT...I wouldn't be picky.

And then, the icing on this poop cake: the woman right in front of me took out a handful of coins. COINS! Nobody uses COINS anymore. Ms. Meter Maid laid down a ten, four ones, and a handful of quarters. "There's $18," she said. Her bill was $29.38. The Devil's Handmaiden counted it. She counted it again.

"Ma'am? This is $17." She counted it yet again for Ms. Meter Maid, and stacked up the quarters in dollar piles. Then she had to calculate the difference so Ms. Meter Maid could write a check!

When I forked over a ten for my $6.57 box of cough medicine, the lady behind me said, "Oh, she's paying for mine, too." I told her I would be glad to. If it got me out the door any sooner.

It's All About The Spin

I make a weekly journey to The Devil's Playground every Sunday. Today is Monday. The Pony informed me he is out of shampoo. The Pony is my partner at The Playground. He should know better than to risk my ire over such a trivial matter. He should rub his head with a bar of Irish Spring with Aloe until next Sunday, rather than tell me that he needs a product from The Devil. Or squirt a little Soft Soap onto his forehoofs and scrub his mane. But no.

Rather than accost The Devil again so soon, I stormed Save A Lot. I needed more margarine anyway. Not butter. I'm no Paula Deen. So I told The Pony that I would see if Save A Lot had any kid shampoo.

When I returned to T-Hoe, I told The Pony that I had two choices. Purple Barbie shampoo, or Coconut Smoothie. "I hope you got the Coconut Smoothie! I love coconut."

You know that if I'd only brought out the coconut without the Barbie qualifier, he would have declared it the most terrible shampoo in all of Hillmomba.

Roadkill Etiquette Of My Youth

On the way to town this morning, I saw a dead armadillo in the road. They don't flatten out like possums. During my youth, you would have been laughed out of town if you told the kids on the bus that you saw a dead armadillo.

"Yeah, right. Where do you think we are, Arizona?"

"Ha ha. You must be blind."

"Armadillos don't come up here, stupid!"

"You wouldn't know an armadillo if it bit you on the a$$!"

"What are you gonna do, write a song about it? 'Dead armidillo in the middle of the road; dead armadillo in the middle of the road; dead armadillo in the middle of the road, stinkin' to high heaven!' "

Ahh. Simpler times. Colder times, perhaps.

The Show-Me Stater

We had a little discussion this morning, Slumlord H and I, on how we used to own a duplex for rental purposes. It was a good deal. One side paid the payment, and the other side paid for repairs. When the renters actually paid the rent.

I reminded Slumlord H that HE was the one who rented the empty side to a man with a wife, three kids, and no job. I had recommended that he rent it to the college girl. Because her mom would pay if she didn't. Now the story has changed. Slumlord H declares that the college girl's mom said she would not pay for her to live there. Funny how we had both applications and an argument back in the day as to who we were going to rent it to. Seems that point would have been moot if only one applicant expressed interest.

Slumlord H's excuse was that the man's father-in-law had paid the deposit and first month's rent. "Yeah. Because obviously, he knew the guy was a freeloader, and this was the easiest way to get rid of him." Slumlord H countered that the man had actually acquired a job after we rented to him. "Oh. Like that's better. He HAD money, but didn't want to waste it on rent."

The other renter was a divorced woman who liked the bottle. Not that there's anything wrong with that. She always paid on time. Even if she DID drop a hot cast iron skillet and burn a circular hole in the carpet. I accused Slumlord H of joining her for a drink every now and then.

"I didn't ever have a drink with her. I would go in and talk to her when I went to try to get rent from the other guy. Besides, she invited me. She came to the door when I was on the porch, and said, 'Come in. I want to show you something.' "

"Uh huh. I'm sure she did."

"Heh, heh. It wasn't like that. But if a woman tells me she wants to show me something, I'm going to look."

The #1 son was sprawled on the couch throughout the conversation. He simply rolled his eyes.

Out Of The Mouths Of Ponies

This evening I noticed that something had bitten my right hand between the pinky knuckle and the ring-finger knuckle. As I puttered about in the kitchen, I spouted out to no one in particular, as I am regularly wont to do, "Gosh, something bit me."

The Pony lay sprawled on the living room couch, fiddling with his laptop. "Was it a student?"

Thank you. He'll be here all week.

The Mysterious World Of Men

Funny how a man who builds machines that put teeth in steel bands to make saw blades for butchers, and who has been sent to Brazil, Germany, Wales, and New Jersey to bid on and buy such machines, and teach others in the company how to use these specialized machines...can not figure out how to shut the lid on a box of Tide laundry detergent because a piece of the cardboard flap did not perforate properly.