Could Things Get Any Worse?

They were simple instructions. So simple, in fact, a foal could perform them. Applejack simply needed to go into the closet, fetch me the broom, and leave. The broom was RIGHT THERE! As soon as the metal door closed and locked with a bang, Applejack found the broom. Figures. Now, me (Rarity), Applejack, and a bunch of smelly janitor tools are all locked in a closet with no exit! I couldn't see how this could POSSIBLY be FUN, but Applejack was determined to find a way.

"We could play dollies? With brooms?" Applejack grabbed two brooms and held them up, making them talk and walk. I laughed at her ridiculousness. But isn't it obvious I'm much too mature to play with dolls? Seriously, Applejack. And knowing Applejack, a tomboy who works all day, she wouldn't really enjoy dolls either.

"Applejack, you know we both loathe to play dolls. It was a bit fun when I was just a filly. I would play fashion show with my two dolls, Dolly and Dollie." I said, smiling to myself. In my mind, I remembered the beautiful gowns of my own design I would dress Dolly and Dollie in. Applejack giggled. Of course Applejack would find things that bring me joy funny. That's just what she does. And believe me, she's the reason I hate dolls. Because she ruined it for me when we were growing up, telling me it was childish and not worthwhile. What does a farmer know about dolls?

"Well, ah know ah ruined your fun, Rares. Ah was just tellin' ya how to grow up. Ah didn't mean ya had to at that moment in time..."