Pinkie Pie's Hugs and Kisses
I woke up to a loud rumbling sound. It wasn’t me. The chili I had last night wasn’t that spicy. That narrowed it down to three possible things: The first was that I was hungry and considering I hadn’t eaten since I’d had that chili it was the most likely reason. The second reason could have been that the local K – 3rd grade pushcart gang, known as the Elmers was running amok. They were called that because they stuck together and were from Elm Street. Whenever they came by they demanded their two day old baked good payment or else they’d crayon and chalk up the side of Sugar Cube Corner with weird graffiti like, “Four legs good Two legs half off,” or, “Boxer had it coming.” Finally, it could have been that Mr. Cake’s vuvuzela was caught in Mrs. Cake’s bagpipe causing a vibration so loud that it rattled everything in a two block radius.
The hallway was dimly lit as I groggily staggered toward the stairs. It was then that Mr. Cake’s vuvuzela introduced itself to my ankles and eliminated one of the possible reasons for the rumbling. “Hello Pinkie Pie’s ankles! These are the stairs,” it might have said if it could talk. Either way it was a surprise that sent me rolling like a tumble weed to the bottom floor. In fact, if it weren’t for the large equine lump in the middle of the floor that stopped my tumbling I probably would have crashed through the wall.
I waited for the world to stop spinning before investigating the lump. It was Mr. Cake. At first I was worried that maybe he’d tripped over his instrument and injured himself. That was until I saw the large puddle of drool coming from his mouth. Due to his severe under bite Mr. Cake tended to drool often in his sleep. One time it was so bad Mrs. Cake almost drowned. Therefore on some nights Mr. Cake had to sleep on the floor in the middle of the Sugar Cube Corner. On the plus side though, when we say the floor has a spit shine we mean it!
I slid into the kitchen trying to be extra quiet and stopped at the sink. Pulling open the curtains revealed what I’d thought it might be, Elmers. The pushcart gang was in full voice making the sound of motors with their mouths and kicking up dirt and gravel all over the back alley. I knew I had to act fast because the more intense their imaginary revving got the more likely they’d stop and break out the crayons. Shoving whatever day old baked goods I could into a trash bag I hurried to the door. Holding my breath I swung the door open wide. The smell of dust and the Elmers stale cereal hit me in the face like a sack of potatoes. As I stood in the door way the revving stopped and a low unified, “Mm,” rang out through the alley.
“Inky dinky Pinkie Pie! Give us cakes or we’ll make you cry,” they chanted in their high pitched youthful rage. It was really scary. I held the bag of baked goods out, to which they replied, “Yum yum give us some; something sweet for our tums!” I tossed the bag out to them and shut the door behind me quickly.
The sounds of young colts fighting over the best two day old cakes and pies raged in the alley for about a half hour before a series of commanding quacks silenced them. It was the ducks. The Elmers might have been a fearful pushcart gang, but they were no match for a flock of foul fowls who wanted their cut of the treats as well. With their wings spread over their heads the ducks charged the Elmers who promptly got on their pushcarts and rode off crying. With the gang gone the ducks quietly chomped and munched the remaining baked goods until everything was eaten and all was quiet again.
I sighed relieved that it was all over. It was then Mrs. Cake came into the kitchen. She looked tired and a little damp. It was probably from having Mr. Cake drool on her forcing her to kick Mr. Cake out of their bedroom. I wished her a good morning but all she did was point at a crumpled special order bake sheet and mutter, “Rotten bass turds.” This meant we had to make some stink bait “cakes” for the local fisherponies first before we could begin with the rest of the orders.
The stink bait didn’t take long to make. All I needed were: Flour, corn meal, bran flakes, garlic salt, limburger cheese, hot dogs, aged chicken livers, old minnows and a half pound of sardines. Then I chopped it all up and mixed it all together so that it was nice, sticky and held together well in the water. Once I was done I opened the windows to let fresh air in. The scent of the fresh air woke Mr. Cake who immediately began cleaning. First he mopped up the area where he had been sleeping. Then he washed the dishes and utensils that had been used to make the bait.
Mrs. Cake made a pot of coffee and drained her mug in one gulp; then went to check on her babies Pumpkin and Pound. After they were fed and changed she completed the daily inventory of what we had on hoof and what we had sold and tossed out the previous day. She then called Mr. Cake over and after a couple of minutes of muttering between them, they figured that out of six thousand bits in sales they had made a two hundred bit profit. This gave her a headache. She then poured herself another cup of coffee as she continued to mutter incoherently and rubbed her left temple before quickly passing Mr. Cake an order for the ingredients they would need for the next two days. Upon receiving his instructions Mr. Cake bolted out of the bakery. Finally, she turned to me and said, “Hold on to your apron dear, it’s going to be a bumpy day.”
I saluted proudly ready to conquer the day. That was until she pulled out a stack of five hundred additional special orders that had to be completed before noon. I felt my jaw drop and then the rest of my head which bounced off of the counter with a loud crack making me dizzy again.
“Are you alright dear,” asked Mrs. Cake.
Apologetic Derpys circled my head as I nodded and leaned against the counter for support. “Of course I’m okay. I’m your bestest assistant ever,” I said swatting at one of the Derpys as it buzzed by.
“Well, good,” said Mrs. Cake not entirely convinced, “Now I’ll take care of this list here. You take care of the morning prep sheet. It’s mostly donuts, muffins, and bagels. The croissants didn’t sell yesterday so we’re going to hold off on baking more of those. Just pop the muffins in oven one and the bagels in two. Then heat up the grease for the donuts. You do remember the right temperatures correct?”
I half nodded and ducked as the last Derpy made its escape from my flailing hooves. “You can count on me Mrs. Cake.”
“Good,” she said with a weak smile walking toward her part of the bakery, “I hope you had breakfast already Pinkie because we’re not going to be able to stop for lunch.”
“Okie dokie Loki,” I said half-heartedly. I hadn’t had breakfast, thanks to the Elmers. It was the first time in a long time I’d wish I’d had a pushcart and a license to scribble. I could have had breakfast.
The morning bake sheet was finished before Mr. Cake had returned with the raw ingredients. Mrs. Cake inspected them unfortunately discovering that we had to leave one of the bags of flour outside because it had wyrms in it. Nopony wants wyrms. Those little scaly things just lead to a lot of shots, a cone on your head and then you get the spray. Much like that morning’s breakfast, nopony had time for that.
By noon Mr. Cake had begun mixing some batter while I added some nonpareil to some sugar cookies before popping them in the oven. Mrs. Cake was rapidly finishing her orders, everything was coming together. That’s when it hit me like an out of control turnip cart toward a flock of peeps, the hunger. My stomach growled low and loud as it demanded something be put in it. With the cookies already baking, the out of dates already eaten and the Cakes working fast and furious I had to act. I glanced about the kitchen quickly and noticed that Mr. Cake’s back was turned to the mixing bowl that clanked in a slow circle as the beater churned the ingredients within. I looked over my other shoulder toward Mrs. Cake as she was putting the final touches on a lemon meringue elegance cake for Sour Drops. They were both completely unaware as to what my stomach had in mind. I was going to have some of Mr. Cake’s batter.
Slowly I crept along the floor toward the bowl. Each step felt like an eternity as my tummy urged me on. Quietly I lifted myself to the counter, my head dangling over the rotating mixing bowl. As I gazed down into the white doughy mass; I licked my lips with desire. It looked so delicious. Nopony would know if I took just a little to satisfy my appetite. I leaned over the bowl and slowly extended my tongue. Maybe it was because I wanted that batter so much, but I didn’t notice that the bowl was tipping under my weight and as it did the beater’s blades drew closer and closer to my extended tongue until, with a twist and low whine they had me!
“Out-th,” I screamed as the beater tried to pull me and my tongue further into its clutches. The whirring blades continued to wrap my tongue about them as if it were spaghetti noodles. My legs pushed against the counter as hard as they could but it was too late. It already had too much of me and the fear of becoming a pinkie pie was about to be realized.
It was then I felt two of the strongest hooves I’ve ever felt grab me and pull me from the brink of piedom. It was Mr. Cake. As Mrs. Cake shut off the mixer Mr. Cake held onto me until they could untie my tongue from the beater’s blades. I never realized just how deceptively strong Mr. Cake actually was until that very moment. “What on Earth were you thinking Pinkie,” he asked.
“Thorry, I wath hungry,” I said my pink cheeks turning red with embarrassment.
They both asked in unison, “Well, are you okay?”
I didn’t say anything as I dug at the tile floor with my hoof. Mrs. Cake closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her blue furred nose before turning to her husband and asking, “Dear, can we salvage any of your batter? I really needed it for my cherry pie.”
“What time was the order?”
“Two o’clock.”
“I don’t think too much harm was done,” he said looking at the bowl, “But, let’s put her on the register for the rest of the day while we finish up back here.”
“Tho thorry mithter and mitheth Cake.”
Mrs. Cake looked at me squarely, “Pinkie, I wish you would have said you were hungry. I mean yeah, we had a lot of orders but, honestly, you could have grabbed something or just asked. Please don’t do anything dangerous like that again okay?”
Her eyes darted up to the clock and then back down to me as I could only sort of look at her. She walked to the ice box and got me a cube, “Here,” she said, “Suck on this. It’ll help. You get off at three and if I recall you have a lunch or dinner thing with a fellow don’t you?”
I blinked as I sucked on the ice cube. After all of the excitement that had happened earlier that day I had totally forgotten about it! “That’s right,” I shouted, “With Clod Hopper!”
“Hopefully he takes you to a buffet,” said Mr. Cake chiming in and tousling my mane gently, “Now let’s all get back to work.”
The next two and a half hours flew by and before I knew it I was hopping my way to Clod’s place. We’d met at a turkey calling competition that I’d won. It had been major upset, as I’d beaten the six time champion Big Macintosh hooves down. Clod Hopper had placed eighth due to some stage jitters, but once off stage, that brown and white spotted colt had plenty to say. In fact after the competition he had insisted on buying me dinner. I didn’t complain and periodically after that day he’d continued to do so. He was so nice.
I knocked on his door several times. My tummy growled at the door like Winona does to stray cats. “Easy there,” I said quietly, “We’ll eat soon. That’s a Pinkie promise.” It growled again and I gave it a smack to shut it up once more. As my hoof landed squarely on my tummy Clod opened the door.
He blinked once but smiled, “Hi Pinkie Pie. Um are you okay?”
“Just dandy except for the fact that I haven’t eaten like all day. Well, I tried to lick Mr. Cake’s batter that was for Mrs. Cakes cherry pie but, my tongue got in the beater. I almost got pulled into a sticky situation there. We may have needed a mop to clean up that mess.”
Clod Hopper blinked, “I- what?”
“How was your day,” I asked as my stomach burbled.
“Um- fine I guess. I was hoping we could talk or something before we headed out.”
If my tummy could have climbed out of my body at that point it would have. It would have grabbed him by his mane and dragged him out to get all of the hay burgers it could handle and then maybe a few fried apple pies for later. Fortunately for him, my stomach wasn’t in complete control, even if it had been making a good argument most of the day. I sighed a little, “Aww can it wait? I’m really hungry.”
“Well I kind of want to talk about it now. If you don’t mind,” he said sheepishly.
“Okay then,” I said slowly entering his home and sitting on his couch my eyes locking on a small box that sat on his coffee table, “What do you want to talk about?”
“Well,” he started, “We’ve been seeing each other for bit now and I think maybe it’s time we got more serious.”
“Uh huh,” I said continuing to stare at the small square box on the table. It had to be candy.
“I mean this is the sixth date and all,” he continued.
“Yeah, it sure is,” I said half listening as I wondered if they were cherry cordials.
“I really like you.”
“Same here,” I said imagining which pieces of candy had nougat inside.
It was then I felt him sit next to me on the couch. I turned my head and he had this really weird look on his face as he leaned toward me. It was the sort of look that Pumpkin Cake made when she had gas. I wondered if he had gas and if he did why did he sit next to me. The potential horrors were endless.
“Well, then I have a surprise for you Pinkie,” he said almost as if he were out of breath.
Time stood still. In that moment that’s when I knew, he wanted to kiss me. I hadn’t kissed him before. I hadn’t really kissed anypony before in a romantic sort of way. I tried to think back on something Rarity had said once. It was some of the best advice she’d ever given me.
“Pinkie,” she’d said, “Never put salt in your eyes.”
No, that wasn’t it; though it was good advice. I thought harder and then I remembered a time when she’d just gone on a date with a star hoofball player named El Whey and they had kissed for the first time. She was giddy and all smiles and said, “Oh Pinkie, I hope that whenever you kiss the stallion of your dreams that you make it as memorable as you can.”
Make it memorable that was the ticket! I grabbed Clod Hopper and bent him back, “You want to kiss me don’t you?”
He nodded and blushed. I smiled confidently, “Well, pucker up buttercup because here comes the sugar train! Choo-choo!”
Slowly I dragged my tongue along his face at first. Then I wagged it back forth like Winona would after trying to eat a can of peanut butter. For the entire time I kissed him that way it sounded like somepony were saying, “Bladder bladder bladder bladder bladder bladder bladder,” over and over again. I had no doubt he’d remember it.
After about two minutes of this I let him up. I could tell I’d made a real impression on him. He immediately walked off to the bathroom to, in his words, “Freshen up,” leaving me alone with the box of chocolates. My eyes widened and somehow I managed to salivate one more time. I reached forward and opened the box of chocolates with rampant desire.
To my surprise they weren’t chocolates. For some reason the box contained balloons. It was a box of individually wrapped, slippery balloons that were rather long and not so round. That’s when I knew, he wanted to be a party pony just like me and he wanted some help learning how to make balloon animals! So I took the balloons and blew them up, crafting them into some of the more basic animals so he could look at them and learn. I made a dog, a giraffe, the disembodied head of Andrew W. K. and a few more of the basics that every party pony knows how to make. It was such a wonderful surprise that we had so many shared interests.
As I finished up with the last shape Clod Hopper came out of the bathroom. I could tell by the look on his face that he was impressed. “Ta-da,” I shouted, “Now you can look at these and learn the art of balloon mastery!”
“Um,” he said speechless.
“Yes,” I asked nicely.
“I don’t feel so well, “he said haltingly, “I think I’m just going to go to bed early.”
“Aw,” I said sympathetically, “Well I hope you feel better soon.”
“I’m- sure I will in time,” he said haltingly as escorted me out.
That night I ordered a couple of two bit hay burgers, fries, a glass of lemonade and a chocolate chip cookie. I thought about all of the stuff that had happened that day and couldn’t get over the idea that I was missing something important. That’s when it really sunk in, that my day would have gone a lot smoother if I’d just eaten something before starting work. I rocked back and forth on the vinyl chair of the fast food place as I sipped on the lemonade and wondered what I could have done differently to ensure that I’d gotten something to eat. I looked at the cookie.
It wasn’t a very special cookie. It was just a run of the mill chocolate chip cookie. It was probably a week old and yet, I couldn’t look away from it. The more I looked at it the more I realized there was something in this cookie that could have made my day go a lot easier. Then, almost as if Celestia had hit me with a cosmic frying pan I knew, “Big chocolate chips,” I muttered. Then I ate the cookie and ran back toward Sugar Cube Corner.
As my legs churned up the earth I realized I would need materials and made a stop at the local scrapyard and grabbed as many pieces of metal as I could carry before hauling them back to the bakery. When I arrived the Cakes had just finished eating dinner themselves. Mr. Cake blinked, “Pinkie what in the name of Celestia are you doing?”
“I need to build,” I panted, “Help me get these into the basement.”
He turned and looked at Mrs. Cake who asked, “What are you going to build Pinkie?”
“What were our sales today?”
“About sixty five hundred bits give or take. Why?”
“Two hundred bits again in profit then,” I said, “Give or take before you run off and buy ingredients again am I right?”
She blinked, “What are you getting at Pinkie?”
“Just trust me on this. If there are two things I’m good at, it’s throwing parties and building things,” I said the determination rising in my voice, “This will solve all of your money problems.”
Mrs. Cake sighed and looked at Mr. Cake, “Help her into the basement with that stuff just, don’t leave too much of a mess down there.”
“Yes dear,” he said grabbing the load.
“You’ll never regret this!”
There was hammering, soldering, sawing and folding. Each piece of metal found its home in short order. When I was done a large machine of various belts, ovens, freezers, and wrappers had been constructed. I clapped my hooves together with delight as the Cakes gazed at it. “What is it,” asked Mrs. Cake.
I smiled and grabbed four bags of milk chocolate and poured it into the machine before starting it up. The gears ground and the engines roared as it sprang to life. It melted the chocolate, and pushed it through tubes creating giant chocolate chips that flash froze on the conveyor belt. Then they were wrapped and fell into a little box that I had set at the end of the machine. “It makes giant chocolate chips! The ponies will love them and more importantly we can make a bunch of them quickly, cheaply and make a bundle!”
The Cakes blinked not sure what to say so I held out a piece of candy to each of them, “Try it. You’ll like it.”
As they ate the pieces of candy they smiled. “What a wonderful idea Pinkie,” said Mr. Cake.
I looked over at Mrs. Cake who nodded approvingly, “We will still bake breads and cakes all that stuff too, but I can find room in the bakery for these.”
I clapped my hooves together giddily giggling and bounced about the basement. Mrs. Cake chuckled and grabbed hold of my tail as I bounded past her, “Of course ‘giant chocolate chips’ isn’t a great name for them and we will have to offer a variety of names based upon what’s in them. But, we’re on the right track my dear. Thank you for this.” Mrs. Cake then pulled me close and hugged me. Mr. Cake not wanting to be left out hugged us both.
Two days later the first chocolate ‘Kisses’ made their way to Sugar Cube Corner’s shelves and were purchased quickly by adults and foals alike. Shortly thereafter, a white chocolate and dark chocolate combination called ‘Hugs’ made their way out as well and with the addition of those two pieces of candy Mrs. Cake never had another headache over finances again and Mr. Cake got a separate bed and no longer had to sleep on the floor.
I never did eat dinner with Clod Hopper again and I don’t think he ever learned how to make balloon animals. He did however, find a filly named Pond Skipper and they seem happy. I know I’m happy for them. Everypony deserves to be happy.
But, what about Pinkie Pie you may ask? Well, I still work at Sugar Cube Corner. I’m still learning how to be a super great baker like the Cakes. I’m still planning parties and having lots of fun with my friends and that’s most important. Well, that and making sure I eat something before work. Thanks to these candies though, I can safely say that as Celestia as my witness I’ll never go hungry again!
