One of the nicest bits about being the 'Ho of a beloved co-president like my Rovey is that I'm always seeing just how much everyone out there in the world adores my Cuddlenumpkins! I mean, of course I'd think my Snookiebum was the yummiest thing on three legs no matter what, but it gets my training thong in *such* a swampy twist (Good thing Rovey's there to unravel 'em! He didn't spend all those months earning his Knot Patch for nothing. Very few folks know that Rovey's a lifelong member of the Beaver Scouts, but I'm figuring there must be a whole coterie of 'em on Capitol Hill 'cause almost every day, Rovey's talking about BS meetings he has to go to.) knowing that there are folks out there who'd do just about gosh darned *anything* to have a moment with him.
But I feel just so super selfish hogging him for myself (He says that's why some mornings he gobbles up my fig 'n Crisco doughnut in addition to his - 'cause we'd all be better off if there were even more of him to go around!) - especially on days like yesterday when the huddled masses, yearning to sniff in just the smallest whiff of my Rovey's manly up-close musk, jammed themselves into bus after bus after bus, piled into our front yard, and demanded to see him. Now, we were in the tack room working our fingers to the nubbins 'cause we'd just harvested a freshly cured batch of jerky from the shed out back, and if you don't bend it around the harness molds while it's still a little pliable, it's too dry for anything but munching on, and you can just forget about having Happy Pony Hour for the next week or so - no matter how good you've been!
Anyhow, I always like to have a little treat ready for fans who drop by - whether it's a drink cozy I've knitted from Rovey's shower drain leavings, or a wallet-sized glossy of my Blubblyplop odalisqued al fresco on his panda skin rug. So when I heard a bunch of them bellowing out in Mexican, I thought maybe I would just forget about my own piggy needs, and make this jerky batch all caliente style with some Mild Sauce packets Rovey'd left in his Sansabelt pockets after last night's 3 a.m. Taco Bell run. (When he quieros his Grande 7-Layer, you'd best let him have it! And I mean the burrito - not that thing we saw on the Spice Channel that I have to stretch out for and get the special warming oil to do.) to give out to his admirers from down Chimichanga way. I mean, I'm not a very worldly girl, unlike Rovey who's been to Tijuana *and* New Mexico, but from what Rovey tells me, most of these people are so unfortunate that even if they've spent the whole day cleaning hotel rooms and running goofballs over the border for Rovey's boss's daughters that they still don't have enough el cashola to afford basics like TiVo and bathwater. Ay carumba!
Well, my Rovey is such a sensitive little chunk o' queso, that it pains him deep inside to see anyone suffering like that. He just couldn't seem to bring himself to open the door and parlez the Espaņol with them, no matter how they banged on the windows and whapped at festive Rovey-shaped piņatas they'd brought along (Mmmmm! How'd they know that if you beat him long enough, you can indeed get sweet, yummy goodness to come pouring out!?!?). But I did my mucho-bestest to cajole and convince him of the joy it would bring into their grimy lives, and eventually, after I promised him a redux of my legendary Dance of the Seven Peppers and permission to lift the ban on eating bean dip in bed while Leno's on (note to self - buy soothing balm and new duvet cover) he shuffled out to let his admirers bask in his cuddlelumptious glow.
Well wouldn't you know, not two minutes later, my humpy l'il hedgehog came scurrying back in and buried his precious head under my jerky apron! Above his sniffles, I could hear sirens and bullhorns and one of those nice boys from the Treasury Department came out of his surveillance cabinet in my powder room to see if we were okay. Once Rovey stopped sobbing enough for me to understand him, he told me that the crowd had stopped by to see if he would help them with something called the Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors Act, and I understood why my gorgeous gordita was so upset. I mean I understand that everyone adores and admires him, and assumes that he's got the power to fix the problems of everyone in the whole universe, but really - shouldn't we really be working on solving the problem of getting people in this country and on this planet the education they need before we go off willy-nilly helping ten-tentacled critters from outer space get into private schools? I mean I know that Rovey's boss is spending all that time and money getting us to Mars, but we shouldn't make sure that all the Earth kids can read a Chi-Chi's job application form before we go breaking red soil to build a DeVry Institute, si? Si!
Hasta la TiVo, los RoveHos!