That's What THE PONY Said

The Pony has been feeling his oats lately. I'm almost afraid to say anything to him, because he loves to play me like a violin and shout, "That's what SHE said!" at the least opportunity.

Did I ever tell you the story of how Val once waited five years to get payback? Probably not. Some day, perhaps. But it happened. So even though The Pony was happily she-saiding for days and days, he had no idea that Val was plotting her revenge. Val is not one to telegraph her signals. The Pony thought he had free rein. SHE-said this, and SHE-said that. Oh, how the self-imagined untouchables sooner or later (usually later) find themselves with the marks of Val's steamroller all over their flattened, formerly heightened sense of wittiness.

Let the record show that The Pony was supposed to put up the Christmas tree on Sunday evening. Monday morning, no tree. Tuesday morning, no tree. So I said to The Pony on the way to school...

"I didn't notice a Christmas tree in the basement when I got up this morning. I heard your dad getting the box out of the workshop. But there's no tree. And now it's already Tuesday, and Christmas is only ten days off."

"I couldn't get it up last night. So we are going to try again tonight."

"THAT'S WHAT HE SAID!"

Let the record show that The Pony knew he had been bested at his own game. The look on his face in the rearview mirror was priceless.

"That's enough, woman!"

He made a few feeble attempts to regain the upper hand as I chatted with him the rest of the way to school.

"Nice try. But you KNOW that can't touch mine, right?"

"That's what SHE--oh, okay! That WAS a good one."

I figure I can rest on my laurels until the weekend.