Her pink hoof slid from it’s slumbering cave, curling up and over the pink oaken nightstand, over the screaming pink alarm clock with it’s two large ringing pink bells. Her hoof came down, missing the button like a Dratty McDratterson. The alarm slid off the table and rang, vibrating with increased intensity against the floor.
Today was not a Pinkie Pie day.
Pinkie pushed her pink blanket off of her face, groaning miserably. She turned to face the mean alarm. It mocked her. It screamed at her. It begged for murder, or perhaps aggressive tickling. But you can’t tickle an alarm clock, Pinkie knew, she had tried before.
The alarm clock begged for sleep as it wailed and wailed; and rang and rang before finally succumbed to it’s inevitable and misleading death. But Pinkie knew, knew that it would rise again like a phoenix on the morrow. It sat on the floor, bright pink on a well trodden wooden floor. It didn’t belong. She turned to the ceiling, the pink ceiling. It was pink like her, her favorite color.
Pinkie was reminded of her sister, Maud; never enough energy to run and skip and sing. She turned to her nightstand. She took a deep breath and reached over to the drawer before pulling it open. It opened smoothly, pleasantly in that it wasn’t stiff or squeaky. It made her want to smile. Instead she reached in and rummaged around for her emergency supplies. Her hoof didn’t find it’s target; she must be low. After a few moments of sticking her tongue out in more concentration and energy than she could afford to use, she adopted a miniscule grin, a mere twinge on her left lip really, but maybe this day wouldn’t be so bad.
Maybe the giant marshmallow she pulled out was the beginning to another Pinkietastic day. Filly Fisher had a birthday today and Pinkie had been planning to make her a cake. And Rarity needed a model for an order she was planning on starting. And the marshmallow was stale… boogers. Pinkie let it fall from her hoof which she could ill afford to keep aloft, bringing it down to sway pathetically in gravities embrace before it came to a stop.
Yes; it was a no day.
Pinkie wouldn’t work. Pinkie wouldn’t play. Pinkie Might eat, Pinkie wasn’t sure. Pinkie was feeling ehhmehbleh, or maybe it was blehmeh, maybe even blehfwamp. Whatever it was, there was definitely bleh, lots of bleh. And Pinkie knew the only solution to any bleh day was to wait for the next day. Bleh days were like that, kind of bleh but nothing to cry over.
The sound of hoofsteps on the worn oaken stairs drew the attention of Pinkie’s right eye. The eye slowly slid over the bright pink ceiling, over the pink ceiling light, over more bright pink ceiling, white trim, a bright pink wall, more white trim, and finally, agonizingly, came to rest on the bright pink door with a brass doorknob.
“Pinkie,” came Mrs. Cake’s soft voice. “Pinkie are you doing okay?”
Pinkie didn’t respond. Her one right eye was staring, unblinking, at the door. Her left eye was, doing something else. She didn’t know. Bleh!
The door creaked open and Mrs. Cake’s head slowly poked through the door. As her eyes fell across Pinkie her brows raised. “Pinkie, are you up? Oh dear. Are you having a bleh day?”
“Bleh, maybe mehbleh, maybe ehbleh, maybe just bleh, but definitely bleh.”
Mrs. Cake smiled warmly. “Fair enough. Take a sick day, we’ll handle the bakery.”
“Bleh.”
Mrs. Cake smiled lovingly before pulling her head back. Pinkie spoke up just before the door closed. “Thanks, Mrs. Cake.”
Mrs. Cake’s smile broadened. “Any time honey. I'll check in on you again just before dinner.”
Pinkie stared at the door as it closed for a good three minutes before smiling. Mrs. Cake was a good boss, a good friend. Good friends make even bleh days good.
Pinkies eye refocused, eventually, on the ceiling above her. It met it’s twin sister, her left eye, after it’s apparently unexpected adventure.
Pinkie sighed before continuing her stare at the bright pink sealing. She stared for what might have been hours, or perhaps only seconds. Pinkie didn’t really care and thought it didn’t really matter. But slowly, a thought began to form in Pinkie’s mind. It coalesced like thick maple syrup at the bottom of a bottle. ‘Boy was Pinkie’s room pink.’ Pinkie knew that her favorite color was pink. But pink wasn’t bleh. Pink was the opposite of bleh. Pinkie needed to paint her ceiling. Not today, today was bleh.
Maybe orange would work better as a ceiling color. It would be warm and bright and invoke a similar feel to pink, but the variance might break up the room a bit. It could also be warm instead of... instead of… instead of bleh. Bleh was like that; things that weren’t bleh were bleh on bleh days but sometimes things that were bleh weren’t bleh on bleh days.
Pinkie sighed, she didn't want to think of bleh again. To much bleh at one was even more bleh. Pinkie wanted to think about orange ceilings, at least more than anything else at the moment. If Pinkie opened her windows to let the sun in, then the pink and orange should blend nicely if matched correctly. Her pink light would stand out more when it was on in the evening and Pinkie could take satisfaction in turning her light on and off and on again to make it feel more pink. Maybe she should get one of those brightness controls.
An orange ceiling would also capture the sunset quite nicely. And on bleh days it wouldn’t be so… bleh. Or maybe it would be more bleh and because it matched bleh it would be soothing rather than standing as a form of sharp contrast between her inner bleh and the bleh hue that the world seemed to take upon her donning such a less than energetic demeanor. This thought seemed familiar to Pinkie.
Pinkie yawnsighed, something she enjoyed doing on the rare occasion that it occurred. It was a good day. She never would have considered an orange ceiling if it wasn’t for feeling bleh. Now she could ask Rarity to come over and help her pick out a nice orange. Probably something soft. But more importantly Pinkie hadn’t spent a lot of time with just Rarity, just the two of them. Sure she had helped model for Rarity on occasion, or had the occasional meal. She probably would have offered to help model today in fact. But Pinkie always had to stand still or pose and that wasn’t very fun for Pinkie. Other times Pinkie was allowed to twirl in pretty frilly dresses.
Pinkie liked twirling. Sometimes, when she twirled in just the right way Rarity wouldn’t be sure if the cut of a dress was absolutely perfect or only really really reeeeaaaallly good. Then she would ask Pinkie to twirl again. Pinkie would always twirl correctly the second time. She didn’t want Rarity to feel like less than the best when Pinkie knew, of course, that Rarity was the best. But, if she held still too long then sometimes an extra twirl was just the thing she needed to make her day the best day ever.
After Rarity helped Pinkie pick out an orange, Pinkie could bake her a giant thank you cake. Or she could get her other friends to help her. Twilight could help her figure out just how much paint she needed. That way Pinkie would know how much extra she needed because Pinkie always seemed to waste precisely 12.3% of the paint whenever she painted. Usually it ended up on Pinkie, but it always made everyone laugh so it was paint well wasted.
Of course the best colors, and tastes, were used to make rainbows so she would need to visit Rainbow Dash to help her get some orange rainbow coloring for the ceiling. Pinkie could also invite Fluttershy and Applejack to help her paint. They could have a paintover party. Pinkie hadn’t ever been to a paintover party before. Then Pinkie could throw a big thank you party for all her best friends in her room with the brand new orange ceiling.
Geee, that sounds like a nice day. Painting her ceiling, hanging with her friends, finish it off with a nice superawesometastic party.
Pinkie’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a wet nom on her tail. She didn’t need to look down to see the toothless alligator, she just sighed. She forgot to feed Gummy. She knew Gummy had a bowl half full of Gummy Brand’s Organic Gummy Toothless Gator Food Pellets, made with real organic toothless gums, that was hardly touched, but she didn’t want him to think she would ever stop caring for him. After several more noms so she reached down slowly and pet him softly on his head. He stared right back. Pinkie smiled. He always liked being dodbted… dotted over… doted over. The point being that he was the best pet she had ever had and he loved it when Pinkie pet him.
Pinkie sat up and, eventually, and made her way over to the gator bowls she left in the corner. She stood over them for a few minutes before reaching down and changing the food out, dumping the old food out into the trash, and adding in two fresh Gummy Brand’s Organic Gummy Toothless Gator Food Pellets, made with real organic toothless gums, before changing the water in a similar fashion, only with water instead of food and the drain instead of the garbage.
Gummy starred in opposite directions blinking first one eye, then the other, than the first again.
“What do ya’ think, Gummy, would you like an orange ceiling?” Pinkie asked.
Gummy starred.
“Okay then, that’s settled,” replied Pinkie before yawning. “Oh my. I think I’m going to take a nap.”
Pinkie yawned again as she walked over to her bed, making it neatly before rolling into it and pulling the covers tight around her so she was a Pinkie burrito. Today was a good bleh day. Sure her marshmallow was a bit stale, maybe she didn’t really talk to anyone, or have a lot of fun. But as far as bleh days went it was pretty satisfying. She didn’t do anything, a friend cared about her and, more importantly, understood her feelings. And, she had something to look forward to, her first paintover, and an after painting party, and Mrs. Cake would wake her before dinner. Pinkie would like that, she would be hungry after such a good bleh day.
Pinkie turned left, away from her nightstand and toward the wall with a full-body mirror on it.
“So that was my day, how was yours?”
Author's Note
If you liked this story, and are curious about why Pinkie bounces like she does, check out my Pinkie Pie story, Excessive Worry.
It can takes the average newborn foal a day to walk. Sometimes it takes longer. Sometimes something is wrong. Sometimes a foal bounces back.
Featured by the Seattle's Angels in review #60.
From Corejo:
As a disclaimer, the prose gets a little cluttered toward the middle of the story, when he’s working on his diagnosis. All it takes is a little care in parsing the information, and you’re rewarded with a brilliant origin story that will leaving you smiling and saying, “why didn’t I think of something like that?”
It’s short. It’s sweet. It’s worth your time. And who doesn’t love little snippets of why something is the way it is in the show? I definitely do. Go check it out.
