Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Mr. Pony

During our first year of marriage, in the middle of buying our first house, I came down with an awful cold. We're talking wadded-up tissues in every conceivable place--on my nightstand, in my purse, in the bathroom, in the pocket of my jacket. The day our house inspections were scheduled I felt so miserable all I could do was curl up in the sunshine on our couch and sleep.

Mr. Brown Eyes burst through the front door, giddy with excitement that our house passed all its inspections, but all I could muster was a half-hearted, "Oh, that's good."

That night as I sniffled and sneezed in bed, Mr. Brown Eyes picked up the newest treasure my mom had made for me--a little crocheted horse with yarn for hair and shiny black beads for eyes. With a twist of his hand, Mr. Brown Eyes made the horse cock its head as if it was staring at me with great interest.

"Hmmm," he voiced in a French accent. "I am Mr. Pony, and I find you intoxicating."

I smiled. "Mr. Pony" walked closer and nuzzled my neck.

"Oh, yes," Mr. Brown Eyes continued. "You are so beautiful. Run away with me. Tonight."

I showed Mr. Pony my left hand. "Sorry. I'm married."

"No! Who is this man? I will destroy him myself!"

"He's quite a bit bigger than you," I said with a sneeze.

"What are you saying? That you do not think I am strong enough? To prove my love for you, I can do anything!"

"I don't know. I kind of like my husband. I don't think I want you to destroy him."

Mr. Pony started planting crocheted kisses on my face. "Oh, but once you taste my love, you will forget all about your husband."

His yarn mane tickled my nose and I giggled. "I don't think it would work between us. I'm a person and you're a...pony."

"A minor setback." Mr. Pony nuzzled my ear and started kissing my neck. If he weren't a crocheted horse it would have been a regular scandal. Mr. Brown Eyes' French accent soon had me busting up with laughter, which didn't help my runny nose.

As I recovered during the next few days, Mr. Brown Eyes brought out Mr. Pony so often that I asked my mom to make another one for him. This one was brown with blue yarn for its mane and tail.

Mr. Brown Eyes named her Mrs. Pony.

With her as a distraction, Mr. Pony finally stopped hitting on me.

It never would have worked out anyway,
The Brown-Eyed Girl

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