furtive white chocolate

and sneaking pony rides

This past Sunday, I was busted by an eight year old. I was mucking out, assisted by a young girl at the barn. She asked if I had ever ‘been on’ the Barbie dream pony that my daughter rides. This was a problem as my daughter was near by. Did I tell the truth or lie?

I did neither, insisting instead that I did not want to answer that question. The squack of objection crowed out quickly WHAT? DAD! YOU NEVER TOLD ME YOU RODE HIM. DID YOU RIDE HIM?

I sweat easily. True to form a bead of it began trickling down my forehead. Well darling, I wouldn’t say that I ‘rode’ him.

Her eyes got big, expression cold: Did you get on him or not?

I was totally busted now. I don’t lie. Yes. I got on him and we walked each direction around the indoor arena.

My daughter was incensed: HOW? WHAT? WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME? How will I ever trust you Dad?

The truth was simple. I was on the horse in March. We walked around a bit. My daughter, who the horse is essentially for, found out last. She was pissed. Why did’t you…