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“I don’t get it, though. I wasn’t doing anything bad!” I protested. I shifted around on the sofa, trying to get comfortable - not that it was possible. I’ve never been comfortable opening myself up to ponies and talking about my feelings, so it was only natural that I found it difficult to relax in the presence of a psychologist. Seriously, having someone listening intently to my every word, analyzing my thoughts and occasionally scribbling down a few notes in a notebook - it was unnerving.

“Do you really believe that, Starlight?” the mare gently asked. I can’t remember her name - it was Cranky Bitch or something like that - but it didn’t really matter, anyway. It’s not like I’d be coming back here often.

“Well, of course. Why else would I say it?” It’s the obvious questions like this that make me dislike psychologists. They dig too deeply into everything.

“Maybe that’s just what you want to believe,” she suggested. I rolled my eyes.

“Well then, what do you think? Was I doing something bad?” I asked her.

“What I think is not important.” She jotted down something on the paper.

“We’re all equal. Your opinion is just as important as mine.” Ugh, why did I even agree to come here?

“While that may be so, this time in this room is dedicated to you, not me.” If it was really dedicated to me, then she would do what I wanted to do. Ponies these days…

“You’re a fraud,” I decided.

“Pardon me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and looking slightly offended.

“You’re a fraud,” I repeated. “I bet that the only reason you went into this dumb field is because your cutie mark told you to, and not because you’re actually good at it. See, this is exactly why I started my community in the first place! It makes perfect sense. You should leave this stuffy room and follow me in the lifestyle of equality.”

There was a long, awkward pause as Crabby Butt scribbled furiously on her paper, having to turn it over for a fresh sheet when she ran out of room. Finally, she said, “I enjoy my work.”

Aha! I’d gotten her. Short responses to my long rants are usually a sign of lying.

Checkmate.

“Do you really? Perhaps you've just convinced yourself of that to make your life more bearable,” I suggested, leaning back and relaxing in the chair.