I slept pretty well last night. Had a dream about Stimp, my ferret thief. He was stealing something from a tomb when my dad came out of a sarcophagus and tackled him. Then a picture I'd drawn of Princess Luna when I was younger came to life and yelled at both of them that they were late for school.

It was a funny dream, but not much to write about. So, I wrote about it... to tell you, how pointless it was. Anyway, today's the day Sawdust and Knots are coming over to bake cupcakes. I'm excited to get along with Sawdust, since I don't have very many friends. It's especially exciting since most of my friends from school were fillies. I wonder if he'd also be willing to recommend me for a job.

I'm going to get ready, for when Sawdust arrives. I might not be hitting on him, but I can still look clean, and friendly. Not that I don't look clean normally, I just want to leave a good impression on him before I leave.

Well, I just fell into a mental hole. I'm leaving this weekend. I might never see Sawdust, or Churner ever again. I hope I'll be able to make friends this easily in Manehatten.

After my shower I combed my hair back. I thought about greasing it back, but I haven't done that in a long while. I might do it when I'm meeting new ponies, or trying to impress important ponies. I think it looks good, but not today.

I comb it back and let it air dry in its semi-curly pomp. It'll curl more when it's completely dry, and I wish it wouldn't.

I helped mom prepare lunch; cheesy mashed potatoes and a garden salad, hold the red onions. Red onions don't even taste good, especially in something as raw as a salad. If it were up to me I wouldn't ever put red onions in a salad.

She has Dale mixing a buttermilk dressing for the salad. I have to wonder where she got the buttermilk. Where does anypony get buttermilk? It's a by-product of butter and Churner's the only one who makes butter in town. Come to think of it, I never paid any attention to what Churner did with the buttermilk after each batch was done. Funny how that works, how he soaked up the majority of my attention yet never let on how he actually completed his task.

Then I wonder if Sawdust has any secrets of the trade. Did he actually get his cutie mark sanding at my dad's mill? I highly doubt it. His sister isn't even five yet, so he had to have moved to Green Stables recently. I think about asking him. Then again, he didn't seem to want to talk about his dad at the post office. Perhaps it's best to let it be.

I toss the salad while mom puts the potatoes on to boil. Dale's finished with the dressing, and it's creamy and sweet.

I noticed the bananas that were on the table the other night are no longer there, and Dale isn't giving any indication that he has any kind of secret. I hardly notice, though, I'm still elated to have Sawdust coming over.

I dust off the cupcake pans when Picker finally comes downstairs. He had also taken a shower, but he still hadn't come out of his room until after 10:30. It's nearly 11:30 now, so Sawdust should be here any minute.

Mom snaps at Picker when he grabs for a leaf from the salad and he backs off. "What's going on?" He whines.

"A friend of Timber's is coming to bake cupcakes," mom says as she takes the potatoes from the stove to drain the boiled water. I'm in charge of the mashing, but first she adds four tablespoons of butter and a shredded wedge of cheddar cheese. The ingredients melt onto the hot, peeled potatoes, then they're all mine.

I grab the masher and stand on my hind legs over the counter. The utensil is designed to be held in one's mouth, but I like the view of the squishing root balls that I get from using my hooves.

I used to actually use my bare hooves to mash potatoes. In my younger years, mom would have me wash thoroughly then bring the pot to me by the sink so I wouldn't walk and get them all dirty again. Other times, when we all got to mash together, dad would lift me from the sink and set me at my mashing station at the table so the next in line could wash their hooves. I loved stomping on the spuds and feeling them mush and squelch around my hooves. It was a messy activity, but the messy ones were always that much more fun.

I begin mashing, and suddenly think how similar the movements are to churning butter. Picker bumps into me suddenly, "Timber's friend, eh?" I scowl and focus hard on the potatoes. I won't let him get to me.

Mom pulls him off of me then and I get right back into my chore. I think I'm almost done, when there's a knock at the door. Dale answers and a young colt speaks loudly, "Missive for mister Timber!"

“What’s a ‘missive’?” Picker asks. I roll my eyes.

I step away from the counter as Dale hands the colt a bit, letting him run off to his next delivery. Dale hands me the note and I read it;
"Timber,

I'm sorry about the sudden change of plans, but Knots woke up with a serious pink eye this morning. I wouldn't want it getting into your family, so I chose to keep her home. She's really upset about missing our cupcake date, but insists on rescheduling as soon as possible. I'm sure you know, I have work at the mill until 4:00 every day this week. I await your response, and apologize again.
-Sawdust."

"Figures," I mumble. I toss the note onto the table and Dale picks it up. I put the cupcake tins back in their cupboard and get back to mashing the potatoes.

Dale comes up to me. "Sorry bro," he says. I shrug.

"We can still make the cupcakes for him," mom suggests once she's read the letter. "We'll take them to him."

I like the idea, but I'm still in a mood. It just... figures that something would go wrong at the last minute. Whatever, I'm glad he was willing to give me the chance.

Mom takes the cupcake pans back out and gets ready to bake. With everypony together, it doesn't take long to make a dozen chocolate cupcakes with buttery frosting and blue sprinkles. I'm just in such a deep well it doesn't feel like anything. I remember laughing and joking, having an all-around pleasant time, but I don't remember anything that was said. Why do I get like this? Just because something a little bit bad happened I threw myself down the deepest hole and covered the opening with a rock.

Mom can tell I don't want to deliver the cupcakes, but I do want to. I should, at least. I need to get out of this stupor. Then Dale insists I let him come with me. Before we take off, mom gathers six of the cupcakes on a plate and covers them with a towel while Dale grabs a mint leaf from the garden. He says he always liked chewing on one when he was sick, so maybe it'll help. If not, it can garnish the cupcakes.

We head off into town to look for Sawdust's place of residence. We don't actually know where to go, at all. Dale agrees to ask for directions and one of the librarians was in town and was happy to help. She sends us toward an adorable one-story house just inside the town. It's a quaint little building with dark brown siding, white shutters and a thatched roof. The door was a thick wood, oak maybe, and has a window in it. When we knock he sees us and opens up pleasantly, greeting us with a smile.

"Hey Sawdust," Dale says. I suddenly think of the first time he said that, Friday night. How had he known Sawdust's name? Were they friends already? They're closer in age than Sawdust is with me, but where and when would they have gotten to know each other?

Sawdust sees the plate, "What's this?"

I snap back to the present and reach the dish out toward him. He takes the towel off and beams. Dale speaks up, "We didn't want you feeling too bad about missing the date." I suck a breath in, a little too harshly.
Sawdust smiles and thanks us. "Knots was really torn up about missing out, but this ought to cheer her up."

"Oh, and if it'll help," Dale pulls the mint leaf from its perch behind his ear, "let her suck on this. It always helped calm me down when I got sick, usually cleared me up in half the time."

"Cool," Sawdust accepts, "though I can't promise she'll suck on it too long."

Dale nods, understanding. "It won't hurt if she swallows it, but she might not like the tingling."

A few seconds of quiet, then I intercede, "We do still want to get together this week."

"Oh, yeah," Sawdust agrees, setting the platter on his back. "I just don't know when Knots will be better. We'll keep in touch."

"Sounds great," I smile. "We'll be waiting."

He smiles, then waves 'bye as we step off his doorstep. We wave back and get going.

Dale barely waits for the door to close before turning to me, "Boy that was awkward."

I remain silent, blank-faced and cold.

"Did you see the way he reacted when I called it a date?"

I sigh and roll my eyes, "Yes I saw, I was there."

"He totally has a thing for you," Dale nudges.

"No he doesn't," I correct him. "He's just polite, unlike some ponies."

He laughs nervously. Then clears his throat, "I'm sorry." I nod, but maintain silence. He's quiet for a bit, too, but eventually breaks back in. "We gotta hurry home! My day of baking isn't over!" He breaks into a sprint. I don't see what the rush is, it's not like the bananas are going anywhere.

Author's Notes:

In which I discover italics don't work the same here as they do in Word.