You know you’re going to get this right this time. You’re going to make sure that just like her bath, everything about Rarity’s lunch was going to be perfect. Sometimes, you question why you even humor her with her refined tastes the way you do, and then you remember, Rarity will refuse to cooperate otherwise. You tighten the bow tie on your tuxedo and fix the cloth napkin on your arm. You then walk up the stairs and into the marshmallow pony’s bedroom.
“Miss Rarity,” you say in a refined accent, “It is time for your lunch.”
Rarity happily hops from her bed and fashion magazine and too you. She sits down and spreads her arms out.
“No,” you say, “you can walk.”
Rarity sticks her head up and walks the other way.
“Fine,” you sigh as you walk over to her and gingerly pick her up.
You walk her downstairs and to the dining room. You cautiously lower the purple-haired filly into her high-chair. You place a plastic gem-encrusted bib around her neck. You then hand her a piece of paper folded to form a two-page book. The word “menu” is written in very fine cursive (it took you many attempts to get it perfect). Rarity looks through it. You had only written one thing, “Les Carrots Avec Le Oatmeal”. Rarity points to that, you worry that she might have put up quite a fuss if she could read and knew it meant vegetables.
When the menu fiasco is over, you place les carrots avec le Oatmeal on her tray table. Rarity doesn’t seem to approve that half the meal is vegetables and the other half is a strange whitish-brown paste that she’s never seen before.
“Will madame be wanting sauce with her carrots,” you ask as you take out a tiny cup that you had filled with melted butter. Rarity gives you an approving nod and you slowly drizzle it onto her plate. The delicious smell of the butter floats up. You make a mental note that you should try carrots with butter more.
You then put some carrots on the spoon and bring it to Rarity’s mouth. You brace yourself for whatever crazy reaction she’ll have, but to you surprise, she just takes them in her mouth, politely chews them, and then swallows. Well, thats an upside of feeding Rarity, she’s a whole lot less crazy then any other filly you’ve fed. At least that’s an upside to all of her high-class ways.
Feeding Rarity the carrots takes longer then it does most fillies, but you suppose that’s a small price to pay to avoid all the chaos. You are about to feed her the last bite of carrots when you encounter a major problem. A small drop of butter lands on Rarity’s coat, a few centimeters short from the bib. For a couple seconds, neither of you say anything. The two of you just stare at the yellow dot. After that, Rarity begins to frantically rub the stain, desperately trying to get the butter out of her coat. You decide that that’s a much better reaction than having Rarity be mad. You then quickly run into the bathroom, where you grab some soap. You rub it under some water from the sink. You then run back to the dining room and freeze in shock, with what then turns to a feeling of utter disbelief. Rarity had rubbed the stain so much that it had become about two inches wide. With a sigh, you rub the soap on the spot. It’s kind of fitting that you just gave her a bath.
When the stain is finally out after about two minutes, you resume feeding Rarity. This time the oatmeal. You are once again glad to know that she doesn’t put up any fuss, but after the first few bites, the white and purple pony decides that oatmeal is boring. She once again sticks her snout in the air in refusal. Well, it seems like there’s only one way to get her to cooperate. You walk into the kitchen and get a box of blueberries. You walk back to the dining room and you place the blueberries in the oatmeal and you then take the spoon and once again resume feeding Rarity.
After about 5 minutes, Rarity has eaten the last spoonfuls of oatmeal. You then place a small, plastic wine glass on her tray-table, and fill it with orange juice. And finally, you top it off with a mini toothpick umbrella, and a straw. The filly drinks the juice in a few short sips. Which takes another two minutes.
When she’s done with the juice, you give her her favorite dessert, a miniature eclair. Miniature is better since, like most ponies, even Rarity goes crazy after eating lots of sugar.
When she’s done with the eclair, you wipe crumbs of her face with a napkin, remove Rarity’s bib and lift her from the chair, when you place her on the ground, she elegantly trots back upstairs.
“Thank you Madame, come again,” You use your accent for the last time.
The whole process had taken about 12 minutes, which in your book, was quite a long time to be feeding a filly.
You are stopped in mid thought by a loud, filly scream, followed by tears. You run upstairs and start to worry about what could be wrong. What if Rarity’s hurt? What if broke a limb? What if...
“Oh, right, I’m dealing with Rarity,” you think as you grab an emergency sewing kit from your pocket, something you knew would prove useful for helping Rarity.
You then enter her room, where, as you expected, Rarity is crying over a tear down the seams of one of her favorite dresses.
“It’s okay,” you say as you pat her back and show her the sewing kit, “ see, I have a sewing kit, I can fix it right up.”
Rarity’s stops crying, but starts to sniffle a little. you proceed to mend the dress. You finish after about 2 minutes. You then hand the dress back to the happy pony, who rubs her hoof through the fabric to make sure that I didn’t make any mistakes.
“You really shouldn’t scream like that over a small tear,” you say, “you had me worried there for a moment.”