Bumfark. Who wants to pet the pony?

Often when trying to describe the town I live in and just what makes it so Bumfarkish, I find myself at a loss for words. It's not just that Bumfark is small, I've lived in small towns before. It's not that it's rural, I've survived rural too. Freshly transplanted to Delaware, I was once given directions to Wal-Mart that included the phrase "When you get to the crossroads where the cows are always in pasture on the left, make the right." And you know what? I'd move back there in a heartbeat.

But this place? It's just something else altogether. It defies explanation. Bumfark dances to the beat of it's own drummer. And that drummer has only one drumstick and shows up at the opera. We post signs pleading for support, but list websites that don't exist. We schedule Little League games around the first day of turkey hunting season. And let's not forget the one stop shopping that you can do at the automotive/copy and fax center/florist/tanning booth.

And I think it's all starting to become just a little too normal for the kids. Tim Gunn said it best, when you've been in the monkey house too long, you just stop smelling the stink. Which is really the only explanation I can offer up for the events that unfolded Thursday night.

Curt and I had gotten the babies in bed and I was feeling frisky. Frisky and thristy, so I loaded Brett up to take him to the Bumfark corner store with me. One of the perks to having six kids is that there is always someone willing to run into the store for you when you're in your pajamas.

We pulled up to the store and the first thing I notice is that Curt's grandmother is standing outside. I'm about to point this out to Brett and say hello when the car next to her moves. That's when I notice that she's standing next to a pony.

A.
Real.
Live.
Pony.

At the store. With Curt's grandma. A furry little guy, he looked ike he belonged in a My Little Pony cartoon. I'm staring in disbelief. I'm dumbfounded. The tableau was just surreal.

That's when Brett jumps out, runs to get my drink, waves to grandma, pets the pony, and hops back in the car, looking up at me expectantly, waiting for me to put it in gear and drive us home.

He's gone native.