This morning, The Pony and I left home a tad early to arrive at school in time for my duty. But because this is Backroads, we ran abreast of a developing problem.
A bus pulled in front of us from a side street. It passed three houses, then put on its flashers and threw out the stop sign. I had time. But not a lot of it. I watched the small, pink-ensconced girl as her tiny feet pitter-patted down her sidewalk toward the school bus, in that joyous off-to-school gait known only to kindergarteners. Her parents stood on the front porch watching her, grinning from ear to ear.
"C'mon, little differently-abled girl! Let's hop on your differently-abled short bus so we can get rolling."
The Pony stopped reading in the seat behind me. I caught his glance in the rearview mirror. "Mom. You can't say that. It's not politically correct."
"What? I didn't say anything wrong."
"You can't call it a short bus, Mom. It's a length-challenged bus."
I stand corrected.