The Diary of John, the Least Interesting Stallion in Equestria.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Dear Diary,

Today was quite unusually exhilarating. I mean it, Diary. Today was very reckless. In fact, it was more reckless and unpredictable than any of my previous entries. Dear me, it must have been something I ate. It simply must have been. I cannot think of any other reason for my incredibly distressing behavior.

When I woke up this morning, you wouldn't be able to tell that anything was off. It just seemed normal for the time being. I stretched, yawned, then walked over to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. It wasn't until after getting out of my shower and walking into my room that I noticed what it was that was off today.

My bed wasn't yet made.

What am I, a slob? Of course not. The very thought of such grossly inappropriate behavior would never have crossed my mind at all before today. Yet there it was, staring me in the face. Frantically, I walked over to the bed and hastily made it again. My goodness gracious, I nearly had an inclination to almost practically come close to approach the point of having a heart attack.

But this was only the first in a series of very upsetting things that would happen today.

When I sat down for breakfast this morning, I distinctly remember pouring myself some oatmeal. As I was eating it, I couldn't help but notice that something about it tasted different. As I concluded my breakfast, I looked at the bag the oatmeal came in and I confess I nearly choked as I swallowed my final bite.

Deary me, diary, but I'm sorry that you have to see this: I ate the flavored oatmeal. I'm not sure how that wound up in my house, but there it was: flavored oatmeal. I must have accidentally purchased it while I was in a rush at the store earlier this week. I quickly disposed of the oatmeal hurriedly and made arrangements in my daily schedule to go to the store and buy regular oatmeal.

I went out, locked the door, and then made my way to the store to purchase some flavorless oatmeal (and perhaps some tea to calm my nerves, as well).

But to my shock and utter horror, I discovered that the store was out of flavorless oatmeal. What's more, the only oatmeal they had was one bit too expensive for me to afford. I wound up buying tea instead and decided to head back home to calm my nerves, which were getting a tad bit shaky.

When I went inside of my house, (and I cannot prepare you for what came next, Diary) (sorry for talking to you - I simply must remember that you are a book.) I sneezed. Me sneezing caused the hat holder to tip over. You read that correctly. The hat stand tipped over and fell onto the floor with a noise so abruptly loud that my nerves were jolted hopelessly and I nearly almost fainted with worry. I quickly picked up the hat holder and, trembling, I noticed the condition of my golf hat.

There, like a scene from a horror story, was a tear on my golf hat.

Since I have no experience in repairing even the smallest of tears, I had to turn to the only pony I knew who could repair such a nasty sight: Miss Rarity.

I left my house in such a hurry that I nearly forgot to lock it in my haste. After locking it, (and feeling very terrified of how unusual this day has become) I made my way over to the boutique of Miss Rarity.

She didn't seem to understand my worry when I got there, only saying things like "Really, John, it's no big deal" and "It's only a small rip, nothing more". How blind was she? The tear was almost a centimeter big. Almost a centimeter.

After I pushed and pushed for her to repair it, she finally agreed to do so. While Miss Rarity was repairing my clumsily damaged golf hat, I struck up a minor conversation with Miss Fluttershy, who happened to be in the shop at the same time, running an errand and picking up some clothes.

Then the unthinkable happened, Diary. The most absurd, ridiculous, improbable, out-of-control thing I have ever dared to do happened. It was so unrestrained and reckless that I am not even apologizing for talking to you again, Diary. That is simply how wild the situation became. I think it was because I wasn't paying attention to what I was saying, being too concerned with my golf hat to think of anything else.

For some reason, the conversation between me and Miss Fluttershy turned to the reckless sport of golf. I'm not sure how, and I have no clue why, but the conversation ended with me agreeing to meet Fluttershy out by the golf course next week for a game of the sport.

My word. Why? Of all days, why did I have to choose today to not pay attention to what I say? I dread the very thought of such an exhilarating sport of golf with such an out-of-control pony as Miss Fluttershy. My leg will be broken. I will get injured. Something dreadful is bound to happen. I haven't played golf since...

..Well, I simply haven't ever played golf.

Diary, I cannot afford to stay up any later writing in you. If anything else, I have to get some sleep to help balance out the utter absurdity of today. Maybe I will be feeling myself in the morning.

A golf game. Oh dear.

Well, goodnight Diary.

Sincerely,

John