Pony Needs A New Set Of Wheels

I tried to call The Pony yesterday, but there was no answer. Only an option for voice mail after many rings. That's not like The Pony. My call is always taken. Farmer H's... not so much. I would have worried, but I thought perhaps The Pony was in the shower. So I waited.

Within 15 minutes I had a return call. The Pony had been outside, cleaning out the car.

"What? Are you going on a special trip?"

Let the record show that The Pony is a car slob. I can't imagine a reason to suddenly clean out that Rogue. Let's not forget that The Pony's Bestie, in college, got into the passenger seat and found a cookie on the floor under some old food wrappers. AND ATE IT! Even though The Pony cautioned that it was most likely a year old. Anyhoo... Bestie survived.

The Pony reported that there was no special trip on the horizon, but that Farmer H had commanded that the car be cleaned out, because he was taking it to get inspected and get it licensed. I suppose The Pony fell for that ruse, even though the inspection is not of the INSIDE of the vehicle, but pertains to its mechanical soundness. More likely, The Pony didn't want to get a lecture from Farmer H, whose SilverRedO is filled with empty bottles of Diet Mountain Dew and sundry junk food wrappers.

Farmer H reported that evening that The Pony's car needs a new set of tires, and they have been ordered. Now all I have to do is convince Farmer H that T-Hoe's warning system keeps clamoring for an oil change. That's easier than tires.