You know what bugs me? That horrible feeling you get when you can tell you're about to get sick. Your body becomes all achey, you're tired, distractable, you can't fully invest yourself into anything. And worse, you want to do -everything- because you want to look like a responsible adult.

Well, most of the time you want to look like a responsible adult.

But no. Instead the proper thing to do is to lie in bed, get some sleep, and be dead to society. Screw if there any holidays around. Screw if your friends want to do that really awesome thing you wanted to do. You are stuck being a sicky-mcsickpants and have no time for fun.

That's where you find yourself today, as you lie in bed, rolled in your covers as a sick burrito. Your eyes are closed as you desperately try to sleep in the middle of the day, but your mind wanders back to that one really stupid thing that you did that you still kick yourself for, but literally only you remember.

You hear the three gentle knocks at the door downstairs, and decide that you shouldn't answer it. You know what, fuck this. This is dumb. You're sick. You're not going to get up or work on your sick day. You're going to continue to lie in bed and wonder if your Dad left the family because of that really big crush you had on your uncle.

Then, you hear the door open downstairs.

Shit.

A soft pitter patter of hooves clamor up the stairs as you look to your closed bedroom door.

Then, three gentle knocks.

Ugh. She came halfway. You might as well indulge her.

You roll out of your burrito and mosey your way to your bedroom door, you open the door wide and look down to the little yellow pegasus with a bucket.

'Why does she have a bucket?' you wonder as she tosses the contents of bucket toward you. 'Why does she have a bucket full of bugs in my-'

Then, you unleash a girly scream that would pierce the ears of even the mightiest woo girls.

"GET THESE FUCKING BUGS OFF ME ME. FUCKING SPIDERS. FUCKING BEETLES. FUCKING COCKROACHES. OH MY GOD FLUTTERSHY-"

"Is Formicophila your fet-"

"I WILL FUCKING MURDER YOU. I WILL MURDER EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR," you shout, patting the bugs off your body. They bite and scurry all over your form as they panic. A house centipede crawls down your back as tears fall from your eyes. "I HATE YOU SO MUCH YOU FUCKING HORSE. THIS IS THE WORST THING YOU'VE EVER DONE."

You sprint downstairs, grab a gallon of gasoline as spiders scurry toward you. You pour the gasoline all over your kitchen and living room, grab a match and light the gas as you sprint out of your home.

Your entire home goes up in flames as Fluttershy leaps out of a window and takes to the air. You finally pat off the final ant from your hair, before taking a deep breath. You watch as your house continues to burn in the distance.

One of these days, you really need to get these fetish guesses to stop. This is getting really out of hand. Maybe you should just fuck the poor horse. Maybe if you indulge her insects, then she'll finally stop guessing.