She’s heavy. And her hand is cold. How can it be cold? The sun is shining, I observed the thermometer showing 82 degrees. How can her hand be cold? I will place my hand on hers. Only because it is bad if she catches a cold.
Yes.
The grass is itching. I don’t like grass. Civilized ponies doesn’t eat grass. Except for Foie gras. Ha. I can make a joke. A good, clean, witty joke. So whatever that dimwit mare down at that bistro in NoHo said, I can make a joke. Civilized ponies don’t lie on grass either.
Weren’t we lying on a blanket?
That’s what I thought. So, where does this itchy grass come from? Did it blow here with the wind? Did some ants carry it here? Why am I even thinking this?
Because the grass itches.
Her hand is warmer. Good. I can remove it now.
If I want to. Anytime. She’s provided for. I have done only what a decent pony would.
Let’s just keep it there for a while anyway. It’s not that I have to. But I have no place where my hand is needed more. So I’ll leave it there. Just for now.
She might get cold hands again. Stressed ponies gets cold hands. Perhaps I should make sure she isn’t stressed.
Just so she doesn’t get cold hands again.
Her mane is lean. If I stroke it slowly she will probably not get stressed. And then she won’t get cold hands, and then I can safely remove my hand.
Mmm… Better keep it there for a while, better safe than sorry.
How does she keep her mane so lean? If she were stressed, she would have a messy mane. Dad had a messy mane. Brother sometimes has a messy mane. Hadn’t it been for Moolers “preciosa” even my mane would be a mess. Not that I’m stressed. But there always has to be an exception to the rule. She has not-messy hair. If I continue stroking it she won’t get a messy mane either.
She is smiling. It’s a rather peculiar smile.
It’s a smile only she has.
Peculiar. She smiles quite often when I’m around. I can observe her peculiar smile as much as I want. Interesting if one was an anthropologist. But I can say it’s peculiar.
So, Centaur Park. Ok. Is this it then? A few yards of grass, trees, some hoofball fields, a playground and a zoo. And some ponds. That’s not much.
Well, to call it a pond is perhaps an understatement. It is a lake. Small, but a lake. And it’s a rather large lawn… Are they using sheep to cut the grass? It sure feels that way. Teeth-cut. I guess this is all you do here. Lying on the grass on a blanket with a heavy mare on my chest. Or shoulder. More the shoulder, but the chest takes the most weight.
Let’s say chest.
Chest. Can she hear my heartbeat? It would be interesting to hear hers. Just to see how healthy she is.
What was that she said? All of my snuggle sessions in the past? Oh, yes I remember all four of them. Who does she think I am? Don Neighovanni? It’s not like I have a catalogue or anything. There was Storm Gazer. Heh. Gulper I called her. Gulper... bah. Stupid Nickname. Then Bree. And that griffon… She was intense. If only ponies could be a bit more graceful. Snuggling. It sounds like a cheap fish dish that you eat on the turf.
Is this snuggling we do now? That is acceptable. She can take it slow at times it seems. I love her.
What the...
Where did that come from? I don’t… I love her.
I love her. Hmmm.
I.
Love.
Her.
Then it must be true. I never say things that aren’t true. I am always precise and to the point. Therefore, if I say I am in love, I must be deeply in love.
With Fransbrötchen. I love Fransbrötchen. Do I?
Yes.
Apparently I do. How did that happen?
The grass itches still. Coming to think of it, I’d rather eat the grass than have it itch my back. If I had to. The sheep have a point I guess.
Why am I thinking of sheep? Is it time for lunch already? I am feeling a bit peckish... When is her lunch break over? We’d better eat before it is. Perhaps she has taken her afternoon of. ‘I go’ and then she is gone. Perhaps.
There was a hot carrot-dog stand on the way. She said the food here was great. If that stand is what she referred to, she must be lying. Many words can describe a hot carrot-dog stand but not ‘great’. Except when paired with inconvenience, or nuisance. But perhaps there is a place here I don’t know about?
No, no, impossible. I know all about top-class cuisine in Manehattan. If there was some decent place to eat around here, I would know. So, hot carrot-dog… yes, no thank you.
What if she likes them? What if she likes them so much that she buys one? Perhaps even one for me? What do I do? And what do I do if somepony sees me, that knows me? The scandal…
Perhaps ‘Scandal’ is too much of a word. But debacle. Yes. Debacle.
I can’t love somepony who eats carrot-dogs.
But if she does, then I do love somepony who eats carrot-dogs.
Hmm… that deserves consideration.
Maybe I will wait for another day to tell her that I love her. Just in case she likes carrot-dogs.
Another good decision made by Alsesta Grandeur. This is good. And it doesn’t itch as much as before.
Does she use mustard? Mustard is good… I can love somepony who loves a little mustard. But not to much.
If I let her eat one every week… no month. Yes, month. That will be ok.