The ride went south when FarmWife, who has asked me to drag a rope hither and thither and across and around on many an occasion as part of my driving training, brought out a Mule Eating Device of Unparallelled Sadistic Apocolypticism (M.E.D.U.S.A.).
It looked like this.
We ended the ride on a good note, I thought . . . trotting a little, with me trying not to gape my mouth open and evade my rubber snaffle and FarmWife trying not to succumb to her common equitation faults. No comment, please . . . she knows that her lower leg has slipped back, and that she needs to keep her eyes up, shoulders back, elbow bent, straight line from elbow to bit, and what-have-you. She knows that I know, but if she knew that I knew that YOU knew, she might be self-conscious and then she wouldn't let me post her pictures anymore, or she would insist on taking dressage lessons with me which might end up being all sorts of work.
Then . . . some thanks! . . . FarmWife committed an almost unforgiveable crime. FarmWife served my dinner, my own delicious single scant flake, in . . . wait for it . . . . the MEDUSA.
Strangely enough, it wasn't so scary when it served as a receptacle for edible delights. In fact, I dove right in, and now I think that the MEDUSA and I are fast friends . . . UNTIL it starts moving!