Kim and Laura took me to the horse park. Our quasi-creepy cowboy guide kept asking for phone numbers and wanted us to come riding the next day. I tried to explain that I didn't want to go riding on Thursday, but wound up excusing myself by saying I wouldn't go because I don't like riding on eggs. Someone should decree jueves and juevos interchangeable. Then I wouldn't make such a mule of myself every time I tried/failed to speak Spanish.
My horse wasn't exactly eager to move, I think it passed its prime in the first Bush administration. I finally got her to run (meaning our guide yelled something to her in Spanish and slapped her bum), but I didn't realize that you were supposed to stand up when she galloped. Thanks to my equestrian ineptitude and a wooden saddle, I have bruises on my inner thighs and can feel the bones in my pelvis cringe every time I take a seat.
I think this pony deserves a unanimous, "awwwwwwwwww!"
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