Grand Pear strode to his latest innovation, savoring the warm glow that came with knowing he was beating the Apples at their own game. This was sure to be the idea that knocked that arrogant bunch off their pedestal and established pears as the crop that defined Ponyville.

Once he was at the new stand, he said, “How are we looking, Harrow?”

His nephew Harrow Sweet bit his lip. “Well, Uncle Grand…”

“Don’t give me the raw numbers, just tell me, did we sell twice as much as the Apples or thrice?”

Harrow shuffled in place for a few moments before saying “Four.”

Grand Pear beamed. “Four times as much! Celestia’s hooves, Harrow, I knew you’d be a good salespony, but—“

“No, Uncle Grand. Four customers.”

After a few moments of standing silently, Grand got out a “What?”

“We only sold four tankards of pear cider, Uncle. Everypony else lined up for the apple stuff.”

“No.“ Grand shook his head, slowly crumpling to a sitting position. “No, that can’t be right. I was sure that—“

“That y’all could out-cider the Apples?”

That voice. That hateful voice. Grand Pear shot back up and glared at his nemesis. “You.”

Granny Smith stuck out her tongue at him like she was six. “Don’t go blamin’ me fer fool thinkin’ like that. Yer head must be softer’n yer pears.” She high-stepped her way back down the road, prancing like a filly taking dressage classes.

Harrow Sweet gulped and looked back to Grand Pear. “Uh, Uncle?”

Grand barely heard his nephew. He reared up and gave a shout filled with his impotent rage. “GRAAAAAAN!”

“Uh—“

“GRAAAAAAN!”

“Hang on a sec,” said Apple Bloom. She looked to Granny Smith, who sat in her rocking chair like Celestia on her throne, holding court over the living room. “Yer name really was Granny Smith even when you was, what, in yer thirties?”

Granny glared at Grand Pear, though there was a smile on her lips. “Actually, it was this old coot what gave me that nickname.”

He gave a soft smile and murmured, “I thought I saw a gray hair one day.”

“When I was nineteen years old? What, didja have yer ma in yer eyes?”

“Behave, you two,” said Applejack.

“Pfft.” Granny waved her off. “This is just friendly bickerin’. Point is, soon every Pear in Ponyville was callin’ me ‘Granny.’ Then the townsfolk started joinin’ in, and next thing y’ know, even mah own kin was sayin’ it if they wasn’t watchin’ themselves.”

Big Macintosh rumbled in thought. “So ya learned t’ deal with it?”

“Heck no! I boxed the ears o’ any Apple fool enough t’ say it to mah face.” Granny's sneer softened to a wistful look. “Wasn’t ’til I got t’ know yer ma that I got over mahself.”

“Why is that?” said Grand Pear.

“She’d been callin’ me that her whole life. Didn’t know better; Bright Mac thought it was th’ funniest thing he’d ever heard. When she called me that…” Granny shook her head. “Well, she’d already lost a pa. I couldn’t be too mad.” She snorted. “‘Sides, it’d be less’n a year before she made me live up to the name. Good thing those two got married when they did, or—”

“Granny!” said Applejack, hooves over Apple Bloom’s ears.

“Pfft. She lives on a farm, Applejack. If she don’t know this stuff, I oughtta have a word with that teacher o’ hers.”

“I just don’t wanna hear that about Mom an’ Dad,” said Apple Bloom, her complexion approaching her grandmother’s.

And the family, Apple, Pear, and both, shared a laugh.

Author's Notes:

Why yes, I have been sitting on this one for more than a month. And yes, the pun doesn't exactly work. Still, this idea seemed too good to pass up.