“Go sit in the corner while you think about what you did.” Auntie Pinkie’s angry face bobs around above me.
What happened? I roll to my hooves and stand up. A good shake mostly clears the stars. Crack. I look down and carefully step around the other broken pottery pieces, wobble my way around the counter, and stick my tongue out at my twin as we pass.
“Now!” Pinkie’s icy whisper chills the whole room.
My tail curls between my legs and I obey as quickly as I can. Ow! I send a hoof to explore my forehead and find a growing lump. “Um, Pinkie, can I have an—”
“Nuh uh uh, muzzle in the corner,” Pinkie barks. “Pumpkin: upstairs, please.”
I hold a hoof to my head. “But Pink—”
Pinkie spins back to me. “And no talking!” A brush and dustpan tumble from her mane.
I take one last look at my guilty sister hopping up the stairs as I plop my rear down, in the corner. Me. Why is it always me? Does she ever get in trouble? It’s not fair. It’s every part her fault too! I face forward, sit up, and cross my front legs.
Staring down a wall is way boring when I could be playing elsewhere. My ear slowly twists toward the rest of the room. It sounds like Pinkie is getting something from under the counter: one of those cardboard boxes we sell cupcakes in.
The box lands on the floor. What’s so special about that stupid-looking cookie jar anyway? It's not like Mom and Dad will ever use it; we already have like, two dozillion! I listen really closely and hear Pinkie picking up the big pieces and gently putting them in her box.
Pinkie sweeps her brush twice. Clack! “Gummie, I need you to stand right here and make sure no foal or alligator crosses this line.” There’s a faint tearing sound before Pinkie scribbles across the floor.
OK…
Suddenly, Pinkie’s yelling at me again. “Ears forward, Mister!”
I hate it when she calls me that. I’m 8, not 68. My ear flips forward and the softer sounds are gone. Of course Pumpkin would jump through the counter just when I had her. Unicorn magic is so unfair.
My nose tingles with —sniff sniff— lemon meringue cookies. Is that what Pinkie was working on when she wanted us out of the kitchen?
Pumpkin’s hooves coming down the stairs are barely loud enough to hear. “What’cha working on, Pinkie?”
I fold my ears, twisting them a little, trying to listen around without getting in more trouble again.
“What? Oh, just a batch of extra super-duper special cookies for when your parents get back from their second honeymoon tomorrow. Do you want to split the baker’s dozen quality control cookie?” The other twelve cookies land on a plate.
My tummy rumbles. No fair! That stupid jar falling is on her just as much as it's on me. I’m just the unlucky twin who bonked his head, so I’m the one in trouble while she gets treats.
Crunch. “Oh, I’m sorry, Pinkie! I didn’t mean to crush it!”
“Don’t worry, Pumpkin. I picked that cookie for us because it was the most fragile one in the batch. Do you remember why that is?”
Because that’s the last one the customer would want, I answer to myself while my sister probably just gives Pinkie a blank stare.
“You always save the best ones for somepony el— MPTH!” Pinkie munches her half of the cookie as Pumpkin feeds it to her.
Silence for a moment. Pinkie’s hoofsteps come back to the storefront and I turn my ear back forward as my stomach keeps begging for my share of the extra cookie.
“It’s just a real shame about the cookie jar I made for your parents’ anniversary. They only told me they were going away for suresies as they packed, so I had to expedite —that means hurry along— their gift, but it still wasn’t ready on time.”
Is that where it came from? I... didn't know.
Pinkie picks up the brush and dustpan then starts sweeping up the smaller pieces.
“Why was the jar on the counter where it could fall?”
Pinkie stops sweeping suddenly. “Ah… I don’t know… What I do know—” pottery falls into the box, “—is that you’re going to help me fix it.” Pumpkin groans.
That’s all? I have to sit here without any toys or anything while Pumpkin gets cookies? More silence as Pinkie scrubs away with her brush. I start crying.
A cow bell goes off somewhere behind me. “Pumpkin, get an owee bag for Pound right away!”
I reach up and touch my bump. OW! I poke it a few more times. It’s almost the size of my hoof!
The freezer opens and closes. Pumpkin’s magic grows louder until the owee bag touches my forehead about where a horn would be if I were an Alicorn. I hold it in place and grunt, “Thank-you,” to my sister. Ah, that’s better.
The scrubbing gets harder. “When I’m done here, Pumpkin, we're getting you... to the library. You're checking out… a spell book or scroll… for fixing that jar…. There!”
Not gonna happen, Pinkie. Special glue is the best we're going to find. I move my tingly hind legs around so they can wake up.
Pinkie tapes the box closed. “OK, come along, Pound. We're heading out.”
I spring from the corner and land near Pinkie. “I’m sorry for breaking your gift to Mom and Dad.”
Pumpkin walks up beside me, “I'm sorry too.”
The box with cookie jar parts is balancing on Pinkie's head. “You both messed up, and I forgive both of you. But you still need to deal with the broken pieces.”
“Oh, Pound, that reminds me!” Pumpkin trots over to the kitchen and comes back with a plate. “We saved you some cookie crumbles.”
I take the owee bag off my lump and grab the plate. Delicious.
