The muffin sat perched on the highest shelf of the baker’s rack, overlooking the diminutive filly salivating after it on the floor below. Its intoxicating aroma wafted throughout the kitchen, and had even spread to inhabit the entire house. If not for its pervasiveness, the filly would have remained asleep.
The pleasant scent had teased Dinky from her slumber while Ditzy was still attending to her morning deliveries, hoping her daughter would awaken at her normal hour. However, soon after the dawning brightness had breached the horizon, the excitable unicorn emerged from dreams of a pastry wonderland with a large appetite and a decided lack of patience. Now she sat gazing upward at the malevolent breakfast, unable to withstand its taunting.
Dinky longed to be as prodigious a muffin artisan as her mother, and was at least beginning to grasp the subtleties of blending flavors. She had custom-designed this muffin herself, and Ditzy agreed to bake it for her birthday. Now that Dinky had added another notch to her tally of years, the promised confection had been crafted with the finest wooden spoon, blended through the masterful action of a professional-grade mixer, and forged in the fires of a hellish hydrocarbon-fueled chamber. Her creation lived!
Try climbing up here, little one. It’s not far.
Dinky stepped onto the lowest shelf and stretched as high as possible, trying to ascend the wrought-iron pinnacle, but couldn’t gain a hoofhold on the polished maple surfaces.
So close, yet so far. Maybe a chair would help.
Sliding one of the wooden seats against the offending furnishing, the blonde filly still didn’t have the height to reach her prize.
Still no success? Hm. It’s your birthday, isn’t it? Perhaps your magic matured today. Give it a shot.
Scrunching up her face with concentration, the unicorn pictured a yellow glow growing from her horn, extending up to envelop the treat, and carefully levitating it into her embrace. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead as she perceived the warmth of her power collecting. This was how it felt in her training sessions. It was working! She could sense the event horizon of that sweet singularity approaching. Opening her eyes to witness her progress, she saw a mere spark balanced on the end of her horn. It detached with her loss of focus, drifting downward until it fizzled on her foreleg, causing her to wince and suck on the slight burn.
I’m out of ideas. You got anything?
“Shut up,” Dinky chastised. “You’re not helping. I can do this myself.”
Arguing with one’s meal was normally counterproductive, in addition to being grounds for psychological evaluation. However, the ingredients that made this muffin so delectable would undoubtedly make it crafty as well. Dinky had designed it impeccably.
It began with a base of whole wheat flour, sugar, eggs, milk, and butter. Nothing special there, but no need to change what works. Large chunks of strawberry liberally applied gave a nice burst of juiciness with a pleasant tang. A sprinkling of rolled oats lent a chewy variation in texture. To prevent the sweetness level from being overpowering, matchsticks of slightly bitter orange rind veined the dough, reinforced with curls of shaved eighty-percent dark chocolate. The top was encrusted with a druse of cinnamon-flecked crystalline sugar, overlaid with a serpentine ribbon of raspberry sauce and a light dusting of mocha powder. A final garnish of crumbled candied pecans nestled among the ridges, bequeathing their toothsome crunch.
I could try to jump, but if you miss – splat! You wouldn’t want that.
Dinky was not surprised that this blend of perfection had achieved a cantankerous sentience; it would only make her foe’s defeat and eventual consumption all the more satisfactory.
“Idle threats. You don’t have the guts. I invented you, and by Celestia, I’ll unmake you!”
Do your worst.
Reverting to staring at her quarry in consternation, Dinky contemplated her next move carefully. Of course! She just had to extend her reach. Grabbing a broom from the closet, she guided the handle toward the top shelf and attempted to work her prey toward the edge, but at this angle could only succeed in shoving it further back.
Hey! Keep that up, and I won’t be able to see the look on your face when you give up.
Emitting a low growl of frustration, the filly began to hear the sounds of her mother’s return in the entryway. Ditzy proceeded into the kitchen and noticed the out-of-place broom and chair.
“Aww, sweetie, you couldn’t wait?”
“No, it smelled so good, and it’s being very mean.”
“I know. The tastiest muffins are usually the worst-tempered. You’ve been such a good filly. If you could please bring in my other mailbag, I’ll get your muffin down for you.”
Dinky walked out to the front porch and hefted the canvas satchel across her back, pausing to enjoy the warm sun on her face. She took a deep breath of fresh air, but stopped abruptly, her ears attuned to a disturbing sound. It was clearly the noise made by incisors surreptitiously decapitating a muffin. In this household, it paid to be able to identify such things. She dashed back to the kitchen to find only the pleated base of her birthday treat left, and even that became instantaneously engulfed in her mother’s jaws.
“Mom, how could you?”
“Mmph grsh wf.” Chew, chew. Gulp. “How could I what?” she asked the crestfallen filly.
“Eat my birthday muffin!”
“Silly! That’s the test muffin. Climb on,” Ditzy said, crouching down. Dinky rode the blonde elevator until she could see all the way to the back of the topmost rack. Her eyes glistened as she espied a muffin as big as her head.
“It’s… wonderful!” Dinky exclaimed as she began to bounce in anticipation. “All for me? This is the best birthday ever!” She snapped a salute to her vanquished adversary, adding solemnly, “I claim this baked good in the name of Dinky Doo.”
Nom nom nom!
Disclaimer: If I owned this stuff, I'd be a lot richer. Since I'm not, I guess I don't.