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// 34-Fighting 
// Story: The Life of a Non-Brony 
// by BronyWriter 
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I did not want to deal with this bull right now.

Or something, I dunno. The day didn't necessarily have anything in it that went wrong, all things considered, but sure as heck nothing went right either. The day had no rain, metaphorically speaking, but storm clouds hung overhead for the entire day, and I couldn't curl up in bed next to my wife and just forget that I had responsibilities like an adult. I roughly shoved the door of my house open and trudged inside. Comet instantly runs up to me like a dog and flies up to about shoulder height so that she can wrap her forelegs around my neck.

"Hey, Daddy!" she says happily. "How was work today?"

"Eh, it was alright," I say, giving her a weak half-hug before prying her forelegs off of me. Normally I love hugs from Comet, but when I'm in kind of a foul mood, being restricted in any way is just the worst. Comet doesn't pick up on my mood, which I guess is good. I don't want to bring her down.

"You wanna play toss-disk at the park today?" Comet asks. "It's a really nice day out, and I can catch anything!" A slight frown crosses Comet's face as she crosses her forelegs. "Or what did you call it? Brisby?

"Close. Frisbee," I say, allowing myself a small smile. "We'll see though, Comet. I need to take a nap first." Ideally a very long nap. One that would take me to the weekend. Alas, it's only Tuesday, so I have three more days of work to go.

"Oh," Comet says, visibly deflating. "But after your nap, then?"

"Don't see why not," I say. Maybe I'll feel better after I get a nap in. I'm not even sure how I'm going to make it up the stairs to my bed.

I yawn and trudge into the kitchen, where Cheerilee is sitting at the table with a huge stack of papers in front of her. Looks like the paperwork from her inconsistent maternity leave has caught up with her. Her sub must have sent over all of the work she needed to get done. I can already see the tension in her shoulders and the bags under her eyes.

"Rough day?"

Cheerilee grumbles back a response I can't quite make out. I've known her long enough to figure out when she's in a foul mood.

"I've got all of this and Comet was rowdy all day," she groans. "We're going to order-in for dinner tonight."

Oof, that's when you know it's bad. Cheerilee insists on making as many home-cooked meals for the three of us as possible.

"Whatever," I mumble.

I head on over to the fridge and take out a carton of milk. Deciding that the effort of putting it all in a glass isn't worth it, I open up the carton and drink out of it directly. I take a few long gulps before Cheerilee clears her throat behind me. I turn around and get the full force of one of her glares.

"You know I don't like it when you do that, TD," she growls.

I shrug and give her a slight glare back. "Look, I've had kind of a hard day. I just needed a drink of milk, okay? Just relax."

"You know I don't like it when you do that," Cheerilee repeats. "We've talked about this before. It takes two seconds to put it in a glass."

"Oh yeah?" I retort. "Well, sometimes two seconds is two seconds too many. Lighten up, Cheerilee. It's a freaking carton of milk."

"Don't you tell me to lighten up, TD," Cheerilee replies, capping her pen and throwing it onto the table. "We've talked about this many times. Put your Faust-damned milk in a Faust-damned glass or don't drink any Faust-damned milk!"

"Really not the best time to pester me about this, Cheers," I grumble. "It's milk, not some freaking gem that I have to cut just right."

I raise the carton to my lips again, but I'm cut off when Cheerilee shoots to her hooves. "Don't you dare, buster. You put that milk in a glass or you put it away."

"Shut up, Cheerilee. It's a sip of milk. I did not go through the day I had just to get pestered by you about how I can drink milk in my own house!"

"Your house?!" Cheerilee snarls. "Oh, so it's just by your grace that Comet and I are living here, then? You're the one who decides how things work?"

"Oh that's not what I said and you know it!" I snap. "Don't you put any freaking words in my mouth!"

"I think you were pretty clear about what you said!" Cheerilee says. "Your house, not our house!"

"Okay, fine, our freaking house! But considering that part of our is my, then get off of my back about how I drink my milk!"

"Which, might I add, I paid for!"

I snort and tighten my grip on the carton. "Oh, is that right? So because you bring in a little more money and you were the one who went shopping on the day you got this milk, suddenly you paid for it?" I humorlessly chuckle. "That is just rich. Just go back to your papers and let me drink my milk in peace."

"Then put it in a glass," Cheerilee says through clenched teeth. "Here, I'll even get one out for you because it's so much effort to walk three steps to the cabinet to get one!"

"So what, I'm some kind of an invalid now? I can't get the glass on my own?"

"Apparently not, seeing as how you couldn't before!"

Cheerilee moves toward the cabinet, but I take a step to block her. "Cheerilee, don't you freaking dare." Cheerilee glares at me before taking another step toward the cabinet. That was enough for me. "I said don't you dare!"

With that, I throw the carton of milk to the floor with such force that it practically explodes, showering our kitchen and everything in it with milk. Time seems to slow down as Cheerilee and I stare, drenched in milk, at the broken carton on the floor. I take a deep breath and wipe my face with the sleeve of my shirt.

"Hey Cheerilee? We're out of milk."

The corners of Cheerilee's mouth twitch up at that, which triggers a similar reaction with me. In moments both of us are laughing at the sheer lunacy of what just transpired.

"That might have been the dumbest thing we've ever argued about," Cheerilee giggles.

"It definitely ranks pretty high up there," I agree. "Come on. Let's clean this up."

I grab some paper towels while Cheerilee soaks some rags in the sink. I grimace a bit when I notice that some milk got on the paperwork Cheerilee was doing. I'd help her fix that once we cleaned up the kitchen a bit. I pick up the empty carton and toss it into the recycling bin before soaking up the big puddle underneath it. Man, I should have drunk a little more milk before I threw it onto the floor. Or maybe just not have thrown the milk at all. That would probably have been a better idea.

"You know, Comet probably heard all of that," Cheerilee says quietly.

Instantly whatever levity that was there before evaporates. I grimace and toss the wet paper towels into the trash. "Yeah, she probably did. We're going to need to go talk to her once we've gotten all of this cleaned up, then.”

Gosh, I remember what it was like when my parents fought. They didn't fight a lot, the fights were mostly just like what Cheerilee and I just did, minus throwing milk and stuff.

Actually, the one time they mentioned things getting thrown, it was chili on a white carpet.

Anyway, Cheerilee and I work in silence until the milk was all cleaned up, then walk on up to Comet's room. If I knew her, she'd be under her bed where she always was when she got scared. I guess it was some sort of bat pony thing where she went somewhere dark to hide and blend in. Cheerilee and I go into Comet's room, and I kneel down next to her bed. I pull up the cover and look underneath and sure enough, I see a small, shadowy blob shivering underneath. I grimace and exchange a sad look with Cheerilee.

"Comet? You okay?" Comet merely whimpers in response, which doesn't make me feel any better about the whole thing. "Comet, we've stopped fighting. We weren't ever really mad at each other, we just both had hard days, that's all. We were wrong to take it out on each other."

"'M sorry I made you mad by asking to play Brisby today," Comet whispers. "I didn't mean to. Don't get a divorce, okay?"

"Hey." I slide underneath the bed and wrap Comet in my arms. "Our fight had nothing to do with you, okay? Mommies and daddies just fight about stupid things sometimes. It doesn't mean that we don't love each other, or that we're going to get a divorce. We would never do that."

"You know how sometimes foals can argue about silly things on the playground?"

Yes, but I maintain that Batman is better than Superman or Iron Man, and that Nightfire is better than Golden Eye, I thought.

"Well mommies and daddies can sometimes argue about silly things, too. We still love each other very much, of course," Cheerilee says. "I can't say that it's right, but it happens."

"So... sometimes parents are just as silly as foals?" Comet asks weakly.

I chuckle and nod, drawing her closer. "Oh yes." I lower my head closer to her ear, but not so close that I hurt her. She does have better hearing than Cheerilee and I put together, after all. "Just between you and me, grown-up ponies and humans, only really act like they know what they're doing. We're just as confused about how to live life as everypony else."

"Really?" Comet says, looking up at me with wide eyes.

"Oh yeah. It's just that when grown-ups are silly, we're silly in different ways."

"Sometimes," Cheerilee chimes in.

"Right, sometimes. You just heard two grown-ups acting like a bunch of foals having an argument on the playground. Silly of us, isn't it?"

Comet allows herself a small giggle and nuzzles into my chest. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Of course it is," I respond. "No guessing about it. Now." I scoot out from under the bed, holding tight onto Comet. "How about we all go to the park and play some 'Brisby'?"