Val Obviously Needs Some Binoculars in Her Helicopter

A disturbing fact came to light during our visit with The Pony. We only found out because I took him that surprise Oreo cake.

Let the record show that The Pony is nearing the end of the first semester of his sophomore year at OU. Meaning that he has been out from under our roof since August 2016. That's almost a year and a half. And that in August of this year, Hick went to Norman to move The Pony from his dorm room to an apartment in a university complex. I didn't make the trip, knowing that I would be of no help with the moving, and that I'd be whiny about the heat, and sad about leaving The Pony there all by himself. Again.

I gave Hick strict instructions to survey that apartment, and make sure The Pony had what he needed, be it cables to hook up his personal TV in his bedroom, or bedding that fit, or bathroom and kitchen supplies. And most certainly cleaning products, and food to get him through a couple of weeks. To take him to Walmart and get all the stuff and pay with our credit card. NOT to depend on The Pony saying that he would get it later. If left to his own devices, The Pony would sleep on a bare mattress, eat Papa John's every day, and spend his free time playing games on his computer. When Hick returned, he assured me that The Pony had everything he needed.

Flash forward to Saturday, mid-morning. We picked up The Pony for a jaunt down the highway five minutes to enjoy some slot play at Riverwind Casino. In case I haven't beat you over the head with it enough, gambling age for slots is 18 in the Indian casinos. We had a wonderful time, and The Pony and I both came out ahead. As we were leaving to have lupper (late lunch/early supper), Hick asked The Pony if he had Oreo cake for breakfast.

"Uh huh."

"Did you actually slice it, or just stick your face in it and start feeding?" I wasn't really joking.

"I sliced it. That was kind of hard, because my knife isn't long enough. I wish I had one like we use to cut the cake at home."

"You mean that silver-handled one?"

"Uh huh. Mine is too short. It gets all over the handle."

"What kind of knife do you have? Is it serrated?"

"No. I only have two knives. I guess they're what you call a paring knife. Like the only kind you allowed me to use, to cut my chicken or steak. The short ones."

"I can't believe you don't have a regular knife!"

"Well, I don't."

"Just use one of your butter knives," said Hick. "They'll cut cake. It doesn't have to be a sharp knife."

"I don't have any butter knives. The only silverware I have is plastic. And those knives aren't very long, either."

"YOU DON'T HAVE SILVERWARE?"

"No."

"Did you even put your cake on a plate?"

"Paper plate. The other day, I put my hamburgers on one to cool off, and they kind of soaked through."

"Why didn't you use a regular one?"

"Those pans I use to eat on are too big. And those containers you sent the Chex mix in are too deep. I use them to eat my noodles, though."

"Don't you want to wash dishes? Is that why you use paper plates?"

"I don't have any dishes."

"YOU DON'T HAVE ANY DISHES?"

"No."

"WHY DIDN'T YOU GET HIM DISHES?"

"I thought I did! Pony! Didn't we look for them at Walmart? Or Goodwill?" Hick knew he was in for a grilling.

"No. I guess we didn't think of it. I don't really need them."

"YOU GO GET HIM SOME SILVERWARE AND DISHES!"

"I will! I'll drop you two off so you can visit, and I'll go to Target or Walmart or Goodwill, and find him some." Hick is good at finding a way to sneak off to Goodwill. He returned later, saying he bought The Pony two knives and two bowls and two plates and a set of silverware.

I knew I should have gone on that move-in trip! We're lucky The Pony hasn't been squatting in a park, sleeping in a nest of leaves, ordering Papa John's, and re-warming it on a whittled tree branch over a campfire.