Monday night he sent several texts about what a great first day he had. Supper was spaghetti and cake. When I asked if he was carb-loading, he said, "NO!" Even though yesterday he had french toast for breakfast, and nothing else until evening, which was chips, because he was waiting to have Papa John's pizza with a girl he met in class.
"Why didn't you have lunch?"
"Because you only got me 2 meals a week, Mother Dear." Let the record show that this is a dirty lie! Oops! He sent another text right away: "12!" Let the record further show that The Pony himself picked out that meal plan, which includes money on his card to be used in the restaurants in his dorm complex such as an all-you-can-eat Chick Fil A. And that 12 is the maximum number of meals per week offered on a meal plan.
Since he IS The Pony, and I AM Val Thevictorian, our text conversation turned to the Oxford comma. Yeah. Like you didn't spend time discussing that with YOUR freshman son the first day of college classes. I sent him a link with the following example:
The Pony, in turn, sent me a picture he had taken that day, with the following explanation: "My friend wondered why I laughed as she was helping two guys carry a box of books." Knowing The Pony, I would assume he was laughing because she was HELPING PEOPLE, and he, himself, was not. But you know what happens when we assume. Here's the picture of the box his friend was helping the guys carry:
"Where did they get that box?"
"I have no clue. lol"
"Like...is somebody's parent a JINE-a-cologist? Heh, heh!"
"Did you tell her, or did she read it?"
"I know better than to ask why YOU didn't help them carry it. That would be considered HELPING people. Something for which you have no affinity. You'd be more likely to find oil having intimate relations with water! Do you like my analogies?"
Yes, I think The Pony might just make it on his own.