Sweep the floors. Wash the Toilets. Scrub the shower. Rinse the dishes. Clean the counter tops. It's easy.

Then why does it feel like misery to do?

It's the weekend for you, which means you finally have a few days off of work to regain your sanity, bearings, and patience, before you go back to work and learn to hate life in new and inventive ways. Sure, your weekend might not be everyone else's weekend, but it's yours, goddammit, so it's time to get some things done for you. Like cleaning your pigsty of a home.

But, now as you fish under your kitchen sink for cleaning products and your secret weapon, bleach, all you want to do is lie on the couch and catch up on that new politic show that all the ponies are talking about.

With a sigh, you set your cleaning materials on the kitchen table and grab a rag. You know that it'll feel good to have everything clean once it's done, it's just... no fun. Which seems childish, but it's so true.

Then, to your delight, you hear three knocks on the door. Yay! A reason not to clean! Wait. It's Fluttershy.

You look back down to the cleaning supplies, then to the door, then back to the supplies.

You chuck the cleaning supplies over your shoulder, which was honestly a really bad move (It smacked into the cupboards and then fell on the floor and broke open everywhere man. What a waste of bleach.), but you head to the front door and open it wide.

Fluttershy stands on the other side, as radiant as normal. Her robin's egg blue eyes look up at you innocently, which is also a bad sign. Usually she gets those puppy dog eyes before she asks something like "is shoving your dick into a sheep's stomach that's filled with the minced organs of that same sheep's other innards and blood your fetish?"

Without a doubt, she's got something up her sleeve today, and it doesn't feel good.

"Good Morning, Anon! I have a question for you," the yellow pegasus asks.

"Uh," you say, unsure of how to react. "Yeah?"

"Would you say you have some hands?"

You pause, completely unsure how to answer this. Is this like one of those trick questions that asshole Joey asked you in the sixth grade? Because no matter how you answered, he said you were gay and everybody laughed. Man, fuck Joey. He always said he was just joking but he always seemed to pick on you so much. Oh god, Anon. Now isn't the time to relive past trauma. Answer the question.

"Uh, yes?"

"Good, because I think you are handsome as well," she says with a smile.

You feel a warmth grow on your cheeks, but for the first time in forever, you realize it's not anger. It's... actually a blush. You're blushing. You didn't see that coming. A genuine compliment from Fluttershy. Wow.

"S-so are wholesome compliments or wholesome jokes your fetish?" she asks.

You shake your head.

"Uhm, no. But, that was nice. I legitimately didn't expect that from you."

Fluttershy tilts her head and her ears wiggle slightly.

"Did it make your day a little better?"

"Yeah, actually," you say with a chuckle. "It really did."

"Good!" she says happily before turning around and heading down the path away from your home. "I always need to butter you up before I ask about the really weird fetishes! Have a good day, Anon!"

You pause, staring down at the pony who terrorizes your morning, that happy little feeling now shattered into hundreds of pieces.

"Wait, then what are you going to ask tomorrow?"

But the pony doesn't answer, she simply spreads her wings, and takes to the sky.

Fuck.