Val Really Needs To Be More Careful In What She Wishes For

Most of you must remember that The Pony is a back-seat rider. He does not yet have his driver's license. Only a permit, which has been renewed twice. It's not that he CAN'T drive, but that he chooses not to. Hick has had him out on the road numerous times in various vehicles. But why drive the car when you can ride in T-Hoe for free?

Lately The Pony had been trying to please me by riding up front in the rightful shot-gun seat instead of directly behind me with his laptop accouterments all spread out on the other seat. It kind of throws a monkey wrench into the within-reach organization of my purse, Bubba cup of water, and mail on the passenger seat.

Yesterday we ran several errands in which The Pony's presence was required. He started to get in the back, but hopped up front at the last minute. "Because you want me to ride up here." Far be it from me to tell him to get in back, because I wanted to set my stuff on that seat. He still had his laptop, but did look up every now and then, and responded to my musings.

On the last trip of the day, we stopped by the bank so I could deposit my $50 contest win check. You know. To cover the cost of that new drill that Hick put on the debit card. Lucky for me there was nobody waiting in the line I chose. The van in the next lane pulled out, and I had that teller all to myself. Only problem was, we were listening to the Laugh USA on SiriusXM, and we lost our signal right at the punch line.

There we sat, window down, in awkward silence, waiting for the teller to credit my account. "Whew! Something around here stinks! What in the world? Do you smell that, Pony? Shooey! Is it that bush over there? My grandpa used to have a bush that stunk. What IS that? It smells like...like...FEET!"

The Pony took his foot out of his Adidas slide, which he had been wearing off and on all day. He grabbed his toes with his fingers and pulled that foot up to his nose. WHILE WE WERE SITTING AT THE BANK DRIVE-THRU!

"Yep. It's mah feet! They didn't smell that bad last time. In fact, I don't think they've EVER smelled this bad. Here." He poked that foot over toward my face.

"EEEEEE! Get it out of here! I HATE feet! Stop it!"

"It really does smell. Is that the odor?"

"It has to be! How can your feet stink like that? Don't you wash them?"

"Every night. With a LOT of soap! I find it strange that my feet, which have not really been in actual shoes today, smell so bad."

"ME TOO!"

By now we had left the bank to continue our quest to another appointment. Because The Pony was riding up front with me, I had to jam my yellow Bubba cup full of ice water on top of the cup holder in the console. It is not a good fit.

"Look out when I make this turn. Grab my water."

"Okay. Got it."

"NOT WITH YOUR FOOT FINGERS! STOP!"

"I'm not really touching anything but the lid. You drink out of the straw."

"But I'll smell FEET on the lid. It's right under my nose."

"Huh."

"It must be those shoes! You've had them for two years now!"

"But they're not closed in."

"They have that cushiony part. Not just slick, like shower shoes. That cushion that can soak up sweat. I'll bet your wore them working on the Sword Shack. It was 105 heat index! And you walked your little nephew down to the creek."

"Yeah. It was hot." He slipped his foot out of the slide and picked it up. "PEW! It's the shoes, all right. Smell."

"Get that away from my face! I'm driving! I'm going to gag. I need to put the windows down. How come I don't smell them when you ride behind me? You even put them up on the console to bug me, and I don't smell them."

"When I'm in the back, the air is blowing the smell back. Up here, the vents blow the odor up to your nose. See?" He put his foot up on the dash, over the vent by the door.

"YUCK! Stop!"

We completed our mission. It was now 6:15, and The Pony was hungry. He wanted to drive through Rally's for a burger before we started home. Let the record show that after watching The Pony consume his meal, I would kind of rather he was sitting behind me.

"Why don't you leave it wrapped in the wrapper? Ketchup is dripping out!"

"I always eat it this way. I lean over the wrapper. See? It drips on there. It doesn't get on my clothes or the car."

"It's running down your hand! Don't you have napkins?"

"I think so. Let's see." The Pony continued to chomp on his cheeseburger as he slid his foot out of his slide and REACHED HIS TOES DOWN INTO THE RALLY'S BAG FEELING FOR NAPKINS! "Nope. It's empty."

"Thank goodness! That was gross!"

"I was only trying to get napkins. You told me to."

"Not with your feet!"

We made it home by some miracle without me vomiting. I think it had something to do with the explosive farts that echoed against the leather seat like T-Hoe was being pierced by torpedoes. Their aroma tamed the tootsie twang.

Upon entering the homestead, and greeting Hick, The Pony filled him in on our trip. "Oh, Dad. Mom says my feet really stink. See?" He held a shoe in front of Hick's face.

"WARSH YOUR FEET, BOY!"

"Heh, heh. I DO wash my feet. Every night. It's the shoes."

I can get them in two days with free shipping from Amazon Prime. This situation might justify one-day shipping.