I could have sent her back...

Dear Diary,

I never took the tulips out of my car. They just sat there and festered for the last two days. What a waste of $20.

My work day went as expected. Customers lined up, I took their orders, and they got their burgers. Jenny came in around 2 PM, and she even made sure to order from my register. She smiled, said hi, asked me about my day, and then ordered a milkshake. She didn't even stay to drink it in the store, she just said "Take care of yourself," and walked back to her car with it. Her pants fit nice and tight around her waist as she walked out the door. It suited her.

Before I left, I used my employee discount to grab myself a chicken sandwich, and a small salad in case Dashie was awake. I fought the urge to take a long walk today, because I needed to get back home to check on Dashie. So, I drove straight home, back to the ramshackle sardine can I call an apartment.

I opened the door to find Dashie rummaging through my fridge. As soon as I took my first steps through the doorway, the room immediately went silent. The fridge was still open, but she apparently wasn't using it. Perhaps she didn't trust me. Understandable. She blacks out on the side of the road, wakes up all alone in a strange room, and now someone just came home to catch her with her hoof in the cookie jar.

As I approached to close the fridge, I heard a cabinet close, and the muffled sound of pots and pans clanging together. She definitely didn't trust me, and that was perfectly understandable. Gently, I placed the salad on the kitchen floor, and then slid it over towards the cupboard I deduced she was hiding in. After a few moments, the cabinet door opened, if only slightly, and out poked the nose and muzzle of an adorable blue filly. She pointed her nose to the salad, took a few quick sniffs, and then retreated back behind the safety of the wooden door. A few seconds later, the door swung open completely, and out tiptoed a suspicious filly, her eyes darting in every direction, and a frying pan grasped in her muzzle. She noticed me quickly, at which point she and I locked eyes. She held tightly onto the frying pan and spread her tiny wingspan as far as it would go.

Perhaps she didn't want to konk me on the head, but she was ready to. And that's totally understandable.

She continued her imposing dance for about 20 seconds, then, perhaps realizing that the salad was getting cold, she gently placed the pan beside her, where she could grab it in a pinch, and carefully took a bite. Then another. Then another. And then another. And then yet another, until there was no more salad left to bite. Perhaps I should have gotten her a larger salad.

Noticing that she was still hungry, I took one last bite of my chicken sandwich, and then put it down in that frying pan she seemed to love so much. She seemed to enjoy it, even diving straight into the chicken, which frankly bewildered me.

After she finished the sandwich, she looked back at me, this time not with mistrust, but with curiosity and bewilderment.

"Who are you?" she asked me.

Smiling, I took a knee, and pet her on the mane.