Not saying The Pony gives me headaches... but he was at his antics again at supper Tuesday night. We had liver, with some fava beans, with a nice Chianti. NO WE DIDN'T! My mind wandered there for a minute. We had some meat loaf, with potato cakes, and a not-too-nice Coke that The Pony had shoved in the bin of FRIG II's ice maker five minutes before eating. He has a time management problem. Among others...
Anyhoo... as I've mentioned before, The Pony eats at the living room coffee table, sitting on the floor, leaning back against the long couch. He's never off his feed, The Pony. He added three Hawaiian Rolls to his plate, and carried in his special REAL butter. A whole stick. Which he laid on the coffee table. Don't get me wrong. The coffee table is not new. It's nothing special. Not like a Farbman dresser! But still. I don't like the idea of a stick of (real) butter sitting on it, separated by only a thin layer of waxy paper.
The Pony was perfectly oblivious to my stinkeye. It must have taken three minutes for the laser beam to penetrate his consciousness. Or perhaps it was guilt that jolted him out of his feeding frenzy. He had just made a loud CLUNK with his butter knife as it slammed through the butter stick.
"WHAT?"
"Would you like me to get you a HATCHET to continue your hacking???"
"No. I didn't hurt the table."
"You could at least put that on a paper plate."
"Why?"
At that moment, The Pony smugly scooped up his inch-thick, freshly carved pat of butter on the side of the butter knife. In transferring it across the 12-inch span of table to his roll, he DROPPED IT on the smooth surface of the coffee table. He gave me the side-eye. I could see the gears of his brain working for an excuse. His wit is not honed as sharp as mine, after years in the trenches with recalcitrant adolescents.
"Huh. Too bad you're not eating on your laptop place mat tonight."
Thank you. I'll be here all week. Every week. For the rest of my natural life. And supernatural, too, if I can pull that one off.
4 comments:
Perhaps he will get the hint after you spend a week or two surreptitiously sliding a plate under his butter stick and moving the coffee table closer to his lap to lessen spillage.
Or you could do as I do and tell him in definite "do as I say" terms that butter sticks need to be on a plate.
River,
The Pony, as we know, has trouble pickin' up what I'm layin' down! It has to be a downright command with him. So that's my fault, playing it all sarcastic, without making it an order.
I don't want to move the coffee table! It has a wobbly leg! I need to keep it balanced just right, because I sit on the end of it every morning. The end that just happens to have the wobbly leg. Not that it has anything to do with ME!
I think it originally happened when Genius shoved it on the rug, moving it at his whim, when he lived here, eating and computing with his laptop while sitting on the couch. One of the screws got messed up in the wood.
Get that wobbly leg fixed before the whole thing crashes under you one day.
River,
It's the exact leg I sit over! I always look to make sure it's perpendicular to the underside of the table. The Pony doesn't move the table much. With Genius home, I'd have to regularly lift up that corner, and let gravity swing the leg square underneath. Now that I think of it, maybe Genius has a little too much Farmer H in him, and was actually plotting to MAIM me!
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