The Pony seems to have bounced back from the unfortunate toenail-spearing incident. He walks without a limp. Doesn't wake up screaming at night. Doesn't quake with terror when Farmer H tromps into the room. Life was getting back to normal. Until...
DUN DUN DUNNNNN!
Sunday, Farmer H got a call to assist some friends by DRIVING them somewhere. I swear, it seems as if the general population of Hillmomba is immune to SWEAVING! Or else that's just something Farmer H does in an attempt to kill me...
Anyhoo... I didn't find out this nugget until later. From a diaphoretic Pony! Farmer H had been planning to start his laundry when the text came in. On his way out, he dumped a load (heh, heh, you know what I said) in the washing machine. He instructed The Pony to put the clothes in the dryer when it was done.
Let the record show that the chore of doing his own laundry is Farmer H's fault, from being too hard-headed to pick his dirty clothes off the floor and put them in the laundry basket in our early years of marriage, when still living in my $17,000 house. Now he waits until he runs out of clothes before doing his wash. I guess he has enough to last him two weeks. Since he always does it on Sundays
Anyhoo... I was joking around with The Pony while watching Big Brother on Sunday night. He lying on the couch, and me in my OPC (Old People Chair). I don't remember what I said, but it must have cut him
"How can you say that to me, Mother? Especially after the trauma I went through this afternoon!"
"Huh. Did you get another toenail stuck in the bottom of your foot?"
"No! WORSE! Dad made me put his clothes in the dryer while he was gone. I said I would. But when I opened up the washer, I saw that it was HIS UNDERWEAR! I had to TOUCH them! To move them, ALL WET, to the dryer!"
"Oh, that's too bad. You've seen them laying there, haven't you? On the lid of his laundry basket, on the bathroom floor, when you take your 2-hour nightly bath? Seen the um... what's ON them?"
"YES! I've SEEN IT! And I had to TOUCH them!!!"
"Well. I'm kind of sorry for you."
Heh, heh. I don't know when I'm going to break it to The Pony that while he was bathing on Monday night, Farmer H went to the bedroom, one thin wooden door away from where The Pony was splashing in the bath, and removed every stitch, to go SKINNY-DIPPING in Poolio!
Poor Pitiful Pony. He cried because he had his dad's toenail embedded in his hoof, and then he found himself grasping armloads of his dad's wet underwear.
4 comments:
The Pony should be comforted by the thought at least the wet underwear was washed and therefore clean. And has he given any thought to all the years you handled, washed and dried his own and Genius's underwear?
River,
I'm pretty sure the remaining stains are what made The Pony feel unclean! Of course The Pony hasn't given any thought to my years of underwear duty. At least they were easier than his jeans, which had pockets full of rocks that he picked up on the playground, calling them his "gems."
At least they were clean. His dad could have set the dirty clothing on top of the washer, realized he didn't have time to do a load (hee hee) and left. If that had happened, when The Pony had to do laundry, he would have had to move Farmer H's skid-stained tighty-whiteys.
It would have been a scratch-and-sniff activity for your little Pony...
Sioux,
That would have been great! The Pony could have snuggled those tighty-mostly-whities up against his chest while lifting the lid to dump them in the washer.
Post a Comment