My Husband Owes Me a Pony

Wherein Our Heroine Learns the Unfairness of Life.

I played soccer last year. I was hit in the face, at close range, by a soccer ball. Twice.

The first time, the ball was kicked by an opposing team member 2 weeks before my wedding. Thanks to the quick action of my friend (and de facto team doctor) Alicia, I had a small bruise that was gone long before The Big Day.

The second time, I had been married for a few months and the kicker was my husband. Luckily, Alicia was again on the scene with the ice. As John was the offender, Alicia suggested I could have "any piece of jewelry" I wanted (now that I think of it, Alicia's Indian - in India, they measure jewelry by the gram: I wonder how many grams she was thinking of?). As I was led off to our car, I muttered, "I don't want jewelry. I want a pony." You have to mutter when you have an ice pack on your eye. It's mandatory.

My mutterings were met with the sort of amused acceptance you give to a tired, cranky child - especially if you're the one who kept the kid up too long in the first place. Nonetheless, my husband acknowledged that a pony was an acceptable price to pay for making your wife look like a boxer who went down in the second round (even inadvertantly).

I still got a great, big black eye, ice pack or no ice pack.

I still have no pony.

I could use a pony right now - I have a lot of free time.

Posted: Saturday - February 07, 2004 at 08:32 AM | |