Tiny Ponies

As you all know from my previous posts, I talk about my Ex a lot. I mean, she makes for some good stories. In one conversation with her, I get a good 6 stories, but I can only take them in small doses. Too much at once would send me over the edge, which is just about where I was going last week (this would be before I called & said we can’t be friends, etc), when she told me about her tiny ponies. Let me explain.

We agreed to meet & have coffee. As soon as I sat myself down, she wanted to start by telling me about these dreams she keeps having. I told her to go for it & tell me. I was anticipating something crazy, and, believe me, this French biscuit does not let you down when it comes to crazy. In fact, I swear she put the “C” in crazy. Anyway, as I was saying, she started telling me about her dreams….

My Ex: Well, I was sleeping (mmm, yeah, I figured as much), and I dreamt that I was taking care of these tiny ponies.

Me: Tiny? Like those in the zoo?

My Ex: Non, non (that’s her French), JB. The rainbow coloured ones (she said in a really excited voice), like in the kids TV show. (Here we go, all aboard her crazy coco rico train of thoughts.) (Coco rico is some French thing she says. Like I said, crazy....)

She continued by telling me that the tiny ponies were sleeping beside her on her pillow, all nice & comfortable, and she was putting little ‘blankies’ (her word for blankets, not mine) over them, and tucking them in.

My Ex: (in a really high pitched voice) I put my arms around all 12.

Me: Twelve? You stopped and counted?

My Ex: Mais, oui, (i.e. but, yes) JB. I counted, and then I hugged them all, and we sleep.

Me: Have you counted how many days it been since your last pill, petite chatte (i.e. little cat... it's her nickname)? Maybe you should take one now, and share with me because I think I may need one.

My Ex: Please, JB, not funny. You know this is serious. Je ne peux pas dormir (i.e. I can’t sleep).

Then, she gave me this serious look again. Holy cow, I thought, here it comes... and it did.

My Ex: Apres (i.e. after), I was walking my sister.

Me: You were walking your sister? Is she a dog in your dream?

My Ex: Non, non. Are you making fun of me?

Me: No, not at all, chatte. I'm listening.

My Ex: My sister, she was riding a pony.

At this point, I spit out my coffee.

My Ex: Please, JB, je suis sérieux (i.e. I am serious). Apres (i.e. after), I dream that I gave birth to 2 dead twin babies, and I was taking care of them... but they were dead. Is this not strange. (Is this not strange? H*ell, yes! WTF?!)

Well, this was it for me. An hour had gone by, and I really needed to get out of there. So, I told her I was getting on my tiny pony, and taking my a** to work.

Needless to say, after that conversation, I knew it was time to cut the ties that bind, get that French biscuit back on the train to Nowhere Ville de France, and say au revoir, ma chatte, au revoir. Translation: Goodbye, my cat, goodbye. Maybe next time she’ll dream of fairies and orange bottomed monkeys.

Mon Dieu!

JB