There's Something in a Tuesday

by Matthew DePointe

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Cutie Mark Crusaders, Scootaloo, Random, Cheerilee, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1737

Today is Scootaloo's birthday. It is on a Tuesday. She hates birthdays, especially her own

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Today is just a regular Tuesday. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. Today is Scootaloo's birthday. It is just a regular Tuesday.

Published 2015-02-27 01:50:03 UTC
Last updated 2015-02-27 01:50:03 UTC

A Regular Tuesday

A Regular Tuesday

6:00 AM

I’m depressed as hell. The sole reason is that today is my birthday. I don’t believe in birthdays. I know that it is a stupid sentence, but I can’t think of any other way to describe it.

Getting out of the covers was the equivalent of running a marathon. How am I expected to write down my thoughts in such an incoherent state of mind? You all must, as Sweetie Belle would say it, pusillanimously forgive me. I think. Horribly good. Goodly horrible. Saying crazy stuff to my ceiling. Totally not insane today, right?

Anyway, I inched my way out of the covers and went downstairs. Atticus and Mayella were not up yet, so I had to set the three dining room chairs up on top of each other and climb it like the Unicorn Mountain Range. I almost fell to my death - a whole five hoof-lengths from the ground! So extreme, right invisible camera? Just nod.

Anyway, [or should I say however, since I don’t want to sound at all repetitive and I need to keep all of you who are reading this on your toes (or hoofs), am I even allowed to do a double parentheses in this line because I’m not quite sure…]

Sorry about that, I ramble at times. I got my crunchy Sugar Bits, went into the fridge to get the milk, (Apple Bloom supplies my foster family and I with free milk. Sometimes it’s a bit awkward whenever Mooella is in the room), and I put the two delicious components of sweetness into my mouth. Jam-packed. Hold back the tears and swallow the delicousness down my throat, full throttle. That’s the way I like to do things, extremely.

6:59 AM

School starts in one minute! I usually wait until I am in danger of being late to school because I love the thrill of the speed on my scooter and the adrenaline of the possibility of getting a detention for being late. Life is all about excitement. Besides, this morning, I’m feeling lucky, like nothing bad could ever happen to me. (Don't use that tone of voice with me!)

7:01 AM

Celestia-damnit! I arrived in Miss Cheerlie’s class, after doing some extreme stunts on the way to school that I don’t have the time to tell you all about, and received the infamous pink slip that infuriates Atticus and Mayella. I wish they would color-code pieces of worthless paper more accurately. If detention is bad, then the color should be black, although it might be hard to read. It sure beats pink, though, like the piece of paper is playing a trick on me and laughs. Oh well. I didn’t care, though. It was my birthday.

Birthdays remind me of funerals. I feel like that birthdays are not for the recipient, but for the ponies who make a big deal out of it, being one year older and having to experience the humiliation of being one year older without my cutie mark. Birthdays are for other ponies. They all say the exact same thing on one particular day that should’ve been just like any other day. It was just a Tuesday. (Unless today just so happens to be a Monday, or Wednesday, or any other day at the time you are reading this. I don't have a calendar on me at this moment, but I'll get back to you in a second...I flee the scene.)

I mean, lives don’t just revolve around one certain date that just so happens to be a continual reminder that you are getting older and your childhood is gone. My childhood really is gone, but I hate the reminders. That I’m not just some twelve (sorry, thirteen) year old loser. Who needs that crap? I’m only one year older, have no more responsibilities, nor any more abilities or rewards. So what is the point of celebrating it? Atticus said that once someone turns 21, most ponies really don’t care that it is your birthday. Probably because you can get drunk enough to pass out every day after your twenty-first birthday. Which is exactly my plan.

I kept all my expectations low. I'm usually a pessimist, (except whenever my cutie mark is mentioned, then I’ll be willing to try anything. Except eating rocks. Rocks hurt.) I have to stress this iota, little fact because of all the fake smiles, fake gifts, and fake attention when no one, not even Sweetie and Apple gives a damn.

Anyway, after I got over my mental rant, I went to my seat, much to the chagrin to Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, who looked joyfully happy that it was MY birthday. The twinkle in their eyes say that once recess is over, I’ll be getting my just desserts. Probably just thirteen dunks in the outhouse that is behind the school, each dunk representing how long I've suffered life.

Miss Cheerilee talked about clouds, or cloud precipitation, or something like that. I didn’t bother paying any attention because even if one day I could fly, I would never get a boring job like weather patrol. Rainbow Dash slacks off on her duty whenever she can get away with it, so I’m not even going to attempt to dream about getting a job. I already have a plan. Once, I’m old enough, I hope to fake my death, collect the insurance money somehow, and go live in the snowiest place in Equestria, eating snowberries, and gloating in the knowledge that I’ve beaten the game of life, a game I’ve been dreaming since I was small. This day wasn’t going to be perfect, though.

Maybe I am being a little harsh. It’s not like I absolutely hate birthday or anything, I just believe that it really doesn’t matter that today of all days, people say rehearsed, “Happy Birthdays”. I knew that Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom’s first words out of her mouth would be the poison which would leave my (figuratively) swallowing in my self-pity. (Is that too much? Am I making it totally clear that I don’t like birthdays? I am? Wow, this writing stuff isn’t that hard, actually.)

After listening to my teacher for a personal record of twenty seconds, I almost wanted to cry out in tears. Education was sooooo last year. (For those of you who actually like school, you can stop reading. I already made a fool out of myself earlier).

Atticus and Mayella will make apple-pecan cake tonight. I know that they really tried to make it over the top, to try to make this special. Just because it is my birthday, I am supposed to smile and say, “Thank you so much for making me something that could have been made any other night, but instead you just make me eat something that I have a dislike for right this second and for the love of Celestia stop smiling!” Then I would eat right now because I’m depressed that you are just smiling for my benefit.

I sort of wanted to write a story about my day today, especially about the part where Pip gave me a stuffed reindeer and I smiled warmly and named the reindeer Matthew. But I suppose that I am getting majorly off track. I apologize. Don’t get me wrong. Nothing bad happened today. Nothing great happened today, either. I think that pony's perception of birthday’s being “perfect” is total bullcrap. Birthday’s are for the other ponies.

4:30 PM

I suppose I should tell you about how I acquired Matthew. I had just gotten out of detention, where I just basically stared at the ceiling the entire time. (What is the point of detention? For that matter, what is the point of life?) I received my poison from the rest of the members of the CMC and headed down to the clubhouse. I was feeling kind of lousy because today is my birthday and I was depressed. You’d catch me saying that a lot. ( Am I still clear?)

Anyway, Pip was waiting by the clubhouse door, and got in front of me. I knew that the first things out of his mouth would be poison.

“Happy birthday”.

I almost went off right then and there. Then again, maybe not. I’m not a violent pony and this same rehearsed phrase just depressed me even more. So I started walking away and he was talking about his day until we reached the door to my house. I thanked him and was just about to turn to enter when he handed me this dog-like thing. “Happy Birthday”. I didn’t mind it as much the second time.

By this time, Belle and Bloom (B&B), had to go home because they had what they called, “homework” to do. Sure, as if that was even a thing! I said goodbye to them and went inside.

8:00 PM

I walked with the reindeer. Then, almost out of nowhere, I put the reindeer on my head. I got some strange looks from Atticus and Mayella, but I admit, I kind of liked it. I put the reindeer on my bed though, and I didn’t take it out again until dinnertime. I put it on the table and just stared at it for a couple of moments. That was when I realized that Pip loved me. He really, really loved me.

I was like, “Wow!” and “Knarly” and “Sweet”, and “Awesome!” I didn’t notice I said it out loud, so the stares from my foster parents kinda surprised me. I didn’t care though, and I ran to my room.

At first glance, I thought that the reindeer was his, because it has some blue shades, which looked liked lip gloss, so this was probably his practice kissing puppet. (Who else has one of these? Go ahead, no one is going to judge.) The shade was around his mouth and in some parts of his hoof. I was flattered and felt warm inside. I hugged the bear-like-thing and rejoined my foster parents at the table.

Haha. I lied about you not being judged. You should be ashamed with yourselves!

Author's Note

I share Scootaloo's view on birthdays, and this story is a reflection of what happened to me on my seventeenth birthday. And yes, my birthday was on a Tuesday. Thank you all for reading this.

A billion bits to you,
Matthew DePointe