Masquerade

  I did what I said I'll do and skipped school on Wednesday. Instead, I asked my cook and former hairstylist, Blossomforth, to dye my mane for me.

  "Hi, Blossomforth!" I grinned up at her. She was in the kitchen stirring a yummy-smelling broth. "May you do my hair, please? I would like it washed, conditioned,and dyed. It doesn't have to be in that order, alright? I'll ask my daddy to give you a raise...!" I sing-songed to her.

  "Sure, Silver Spoon! I'm done making veggie soup for now." She poured the soup into a plastic baggie and sealed it. "What color would you like it dyed?"

"Pink, please."

"Good choice. It brings out the color in your eyes."

"Change of mind. I'd like my tail dyed, please."

  "OK, sit in the spinning chair in the giant bathroom with your tail hanging above the pearl bathtub. I'll bring the shampoo, conditioner, and the pink hair dye in a minute."

  I went upstairs to the bathroom and did what she said. Blossomforth soon came and shampooed my tail. She washed it out, then added the dye. She let the dye sit for a bit, then conditioned my tail. When it was all out, the dye stayed in place.

Blossomforth let me turn around to see my tail.

I gasped. My tail wasn't PINK! It was-

I never finished my thought. I screamed and tumbled to the ground.

Then everything went black.

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"Silver Spoon. Silver? Are you OK?" Blossomforth said.

I slowly opened my eyes. Blossomforth was looking at me with a concerned look.

  "You screamed and passed out when you looked at your tail. I am so, so sorry, Silver Spoon. I accidentally labeled the green dye 'pink' and the pink dye 'green'. An honest mistake." Blossomforth explained.

   I looked at my tail and could not BELIEVE the HOT MESS Blossomforth had made of my tail. It was SO not pink. It was green, alright. And not only that, but it was an ugly, queer, dull, bronzy green with streaks here and there of the original gray to heighten the ghastly effect. Never in all my life had I seen ANYTHING as grotesque as my tail at the moment.

"AND IT'S SEMI-PERMANENT DYE!" I hollered. "HOW long is this stuff gonna stay in?!?! HUH?!?!?!"

"The rest of the month," Blossomforth answered coolly.

I saw stars, then, BAM!!!! THAT was the sound of my head hitting the floor again.

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I woke up in my bed. I checked my purple digital clock on my nightstand. 11:49 pm.

  I had guessed that when I passed out for the second time five hours earlier, Blossomforth put me in the bed. I realized there was a star sticky note on my forehead. I tore it off and read it.

"Sorry!" The note read. A picture of a sad face was next to it. "~Blossom."

"ARGH!" I ripped the note up and tossed the pieces into the recycling bin next to my bed.

Then I fell asleep.

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  "How am I supposed to show my face at Ponyville Elementary again?" I sniffed to Blossomforth, and buried my face in my hooves. Which, by the way, fat STILL jiggled off from. "I am NEVER going to live this down!!!!! It's your fault, Blossomforth!!!!!!!!!!!! Can't you read!!!!????"

  "Put a dressage bun cloth over it. Nopony will notice." Blossomforth said coolly, oblivious to my temper. "There's a pink leopard-print one on the flower table. It's from my dressage days when I was your age, twenty-five years ago. My dressage team showed in Canterlot and won quite a few competitions. Plus also-"

  "Great idea!" I said quickly, before she launched into a story about her old dressage pony ballet days. I'd heard them only one million times. And it's always the same story- Blossomforth started when she was four, met a colt when she was nineteen, got married when they were both twenty-three, but divorced at twenty-four before they even got a chance at having a foal or two. It's all just SO PLAIN BORING!!!!! Ugh!!

  Anyway, I grabbed the cloth on the flower table and hoisted my saddlebag onto my shoulder. I told Blossomforth on my way out, "You know, you're smarter than you seem."

  When I got to school my tail was in the dressage cloth. A TEENY bit of green showed, but I hoped no pony noticed, or else there went the rest of my popularity! What I had, anyway. In math class, Strike handed me a note.

Oh.

My.

  I really, REALLY hoped it said something... romantic, I guess. Like: "Can you be my girlfriend?" OR 'I'll give my right arm to date you!"

But NO such luck!!!! The note said: What's the answer to #6?

I jotted the answer on the back of the paper and gave it back to him.

  Strike gave me back a different note, and it said: Thanks so much, Silver Spoon. You have NO idea how much I had struggled with that stupid algebra problem. I keep forgetting the formula for the Pythagorean Theorem as well. Anyway, me and my four friends from the intermediate colts's school are going to Sugar Cube Corner on Saturday night. I'm buying. Would you like to come? It'll give us a chance to know each other better.

OK. THIS is where I fainted. Not really.

I wrote Strike back almost immediately. I wrote: Yes, please! Sounds good! I love that bakery!

My note was casual, but inside, my stomach was doing somersaults and my head went dizzy.

I tried to pay attention in class, but my head was too dizzy to think. I believe I failed my English quiz. I couldn't write.

After school, I tried again to wash the dye out of my tail. It didn't work.

But no time to harp on that now.

I have to pick out an outfit for my "date" with Strike and his buddies!!!

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PS-Was I exaggerating a bit? Because I am not really sure...