It's pretty much a done deal that The Pony has sustained serious psychological damage from my comments! But I can't take ALL the credit! Farmer H has a tongue in this as well.
Farmer H said he would BBQ some FREE Ponytail Guy chicken on Sunday. So Saturday I picked up some bratwursts from Save A Lot for The Pony, because he doesn't like chicken with bones in it. Sunday morning (noon to 1:30) I made potato salad and baked beans. Usually The Pony assists me, but he's been working 11-hour days, including Friday and Saturday. I didn't want to disturb him, so I did it all without him. UNTIL I needed the lid off the pickle jar.
Every time I opened up FRIG II to get ingredients, I was hit by the aroma of the bratwursts. They make their own, assorted flavors. We like the plain ones better than the cheese or jalapeno version. They're bigger and tastier than the Johnsonville Brats. I think Save A Lot puts a lot of garlic in their bratwursts. I was nervous when I brought them home from town, because I had to carry them with me, lest Copper Jack pull them out of T-Hoe's rear, or off the chair on the side porch where I used to set my groceries until I was ready to go up the steps. I really miss The Pony's assistance on shopping days!
Anyhoo... the minute I opened up the hatch, those dogs' noses started twitching. Yes. Those sausages smelled delicious. T-Hoe even smelled like them today when I got in. While I was sitting at the kitchen table peeling four boiled eggs to put in the potato salad, I could smell them inside FRIG II.
Anyhoo... I called The Pony to open the pickle jar I had set on the cutting block. He came in all disheveled, still unshowered, wondering what I wanted.
"I can smell your sausage from here!"
The Pony gave me an inquisitive glance. Or maybe a veiled stare that meant "Have you lost your mind, woman?"
"Your bratwursts. Did you see them last night?"
"Yes. Every time I opened the door, I smelled them. But you didn't have to say it that way."
Heh, heh. The Pony should know me by now. At least I'm humorous about what I'm doing. Farmer H is not. Consider last week, when we were discussing a nickname for The Pony. He prefers it over his given name.
"I'll just call you 'Pony' if that's okay. I already use it, and that's how I think of you."
"I'll get back to you on that. But it's probably okay. Not like what Dad said. He said he might call me 'Hummer.' Because when I help him with stuff, I'm always humming. He already did it twice. 'C'mon, Hummer, we don't have all day.'"
"PLEASE! Stop! I'm gonna pee my pants! Do you know what a 'hummer' is?"
"Yes, Mother. I know what a hummer is."
"And you didn't tell him to stop calling you that?"
"Not at the time. But I will. I didn't know if he knows what that means."
"I'm sure he does!"
In fact, when the topic was broached, Farmer H admitted that yes, he DID know what 'hummer' meant. Poor Pony. He doesn't stand a chance.
Out of respect for him, I used 'sausage' instead of 'wiener.'