The Time Had Come

	The time had come.  They had dreaded this day for a long time.  The two of them didn’t want to do it, but they really had no choice.
	“I don’t want to tell her,” said Mr. Cake.
	“Neither do I,” said Mrs. Cake, “but we really haven’t got a choice.”
	So they both steeled their resolve and headed down the stairs of the Sugarcube Corner to tell Pinkie Pie.  They found her in the kitchen, already hard at work.  Every available horizontal surface was covered with freshly made cakes, pies, pastries, donuts, cookies and candies.  That was part of the problem.  They were closed today.  Even if they were open they wouldn’t be able to sell all this.  It would all have to go to waste.  It would cost them a fortune.
	“Good morning, Mr. Cake.   Good Morning, Mrs. Cake,” Pinkie said cheerfully, “are you have a good day today?”
	“Morning, Pinkie,” Mrs. Cake said, “listen, Sweetie, we really need to talk to you.”
	“Oh OK, I love to talk,” Pinkie said, “I like to talk to my friends, and I like to talk to strangers, and I like to talk to animals, and I like to talk to myself…”
	“We want to talk about the work you do in the sweetshop,” Mr. Cake said.
	“Uh huh,” Pinkie said.
	“There have been a lot of problems with your work lately,” Mrs. Cake said.
	“Uh huh,” Pinkie said
	“Actually, there have always been problems with your work,” Mr. Cake said.”
	“Uh huh,” Pinkie said.
	“We were hoping you would have grown out of it by now,” Mrs. Cake said.
	“Uh huh,” Pinkie said.
	“Pinkie, sweetie,” Mr. Cake said, “you’ve put an number of ponies in the hospital over the last few months.”
	“Oh sure, I remember that,” Pinkie said, “but the first time was Applejack’s muffins, and the second time was Apple Bloom’s cupcakes.  Those sure are some wacky apples!” She made a funny face.
	Mr. Cake looked at Mrs. Cake and raised his hooves in frustration.
	“Pinkie,” said Mrs. Cake.  “You know those checks we get from the government?  The ones we get to take care of you?  Those are going to be running out soon.”
	“Oh that’s going to be on my birthday!” Pinkie cheered.  “I’m going to officially be a mare.  I’ll be able to buy cigarettes and pornography.  Not that I would ever ever ever do such a thing.  But I sure am going to have a BIIIIIG party!”
	“Pinkie, look,” Mr. Cake said, finally putting his hoof down.  “We’re a small business.  We can barely make ends meet.  We hadn’t ever expected to be in so much debt at this point in our lives.  You’re killing the business, Pinkie.  I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you…”
	“Shh, shh, shh!” Pinkie shushed them.  “It’s time.”  She stuck two cupcakes in their hooves, each with a candle.  She ran over and turned off the lights.  With all the shadess and shutters closed, the sweetshop was pitch black.  There was a thump.  There was a bump.  A thud.   A rather disturbing quack.  There was the opening and closing of doors.  And a whole bunch of clopping of hooves.
	Suddenly the lights came back on.  “Surprise!” shouted Pinkie, and a room full of ponies.  Pinkie’s friends were here.  Mr. and Mrs. Cake’s friends were here.  A whole bunch of background ponies they didn’t recognize were here.  Confetti cannons were blasting off everywhere, so were a varied assortment of noisemakers.  An enormous banner somehow unfurled itself from the ceiling.  It read, “Happy Anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Ca.”
	Their jaws dropped.  The party got off to a rambunctious start.  The crowd dove in to all the delicious treats that Pinkie had been preparing since the night before.  Pinkie put an old record on the phonograph.  Mr. and Mrs. Cake’s heart melted.
	“Cup?” said Mr. Cake.
	“Yes, Carrot?” said Mrs. Cake.
	“I forgot again.”
	“It’s OK this time, Carrot, I forgot too,” said Mrs. Cake.
	They watched the party and listened to the music.
	“Carrot?”
	“Yes, Cup?”
	“How did she know the song that was playing at our wedding reception?”
	“I don’t know, Cup,” Mr. Cake said, “sometimes she’s spooky like that.”
	They watched the party.”
	“Cup?”
	“Yes, Carrot?”
	“She’s really a pretty sweet kid,” Mr. Cake said.
	“The sweetest there is.”
	They watched the party.
	“Carrot?”
	“Yes, Cup?”
	“She’s the closest thing we’ve ever had to having a filly of our own.”
	“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you any foals, Cup.”
	They watched the party.
	“Cup?”
	“Yes, Carrot?”
	“I think that maybe we shouldn’t go through with…”
	“Carrot,” Mrs. Cake interrupted, “When are you ever going to learn to just shut up and dance me across the floor?”
	So Mr. Cake shut up.  He took of his apron and his hat.  He took his wife in his hooves, and danced her across the floor of their sweetshop.  The party watched them.  They all agreed.
	It was the sweetest thing.