>”Chirp! Chirp!”
>”Mrmmmm.”
>”Chirp! Chirp! Wakies, daddy! Is bwight time!”
>You grumble, stirring from your restful sleep.
>”Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Chir-”
>You blindly smack your hand on top of your alarm foal. It cries out.
>”Owwies! Why huwt fwuffy? Daddy teww fwuffy wakies him when Sky Baww come out!”
>You mutter a half sincere apology before getting up out of bed.
>The bed giggles as you slide out of it.
>”Wuv daddy! Fank yoo fo' sweeping on fwuffy, feew so wawm!”
>You grunt, your eyes still closed.
>You let out a dramatic yawn and open your eyes.
>Locating your slippers, you slide them onto your feet. They both laugh.
>”Heehee! Daddy feet tickwe!”
>You shuffle into the bathroom and grab your toothbrush.
>”Fwuffy hewp daddy teefies be aww cwean!”
>You put some toothpaste on the brush, the tube squeaking a bit when you squeeze it.
>”Nu so hawd, daddy! Gentwy, pwease!”
>She says that every morning. You ignore her and start brushing, your toothbrush making unintelligible noises about “gif pwack an' gingewvitis bigges' owwies!”
>Your breath now minty fresh, you head into the kitchen.
>Hmm, fairly quiet this morning. Probably gonna need to go to the store.
>Checking the cupboards confirms your suspicions.
>The cereal boxes are still asleep, hugging side by side as the Frosted Flakes box mumbles about being 'gwwwwwwwwwwweat!”
>Don't feel like listening to them harp at you to pick them as part of a 'bawanced nummies', so you close the door quietly.
>Might as well make toast.
>Plug in the toaster, who babbles excitedly about being used.
>Open the breadbox and take out the remaining half loaf.
>Once you get into the habit of baking your own bread, it's hard to go back to store brand loafs.
>”Fwuffy bwead wuv daddy!”
>You set it on the cutting board and start cutting a slice.
>”Heehee, dat tickwe!”
>You set the slice in the toaster and push the plunger.
>”Hewwo, bweady fwend! Toasta gif wawm huggies!”
>”Yay! Wuv wawm huggies! Wuv nu fwend!”
>They 'hug' for about a minute, then pop back up.
>”Bye fwend! Wuv yoo! Be good nummies fo' daddy!”
>Spreading some peanut butter on the fluffy toast, you chow down.
>”Now fwuffy get huggies fwom daddy tummy! Yay! Wuv being num-”
>You pop the last piece in your mouth before it can finish its sentence.
>You check the fridge. Practically empty.
>The orange juice is complaining about the milk.
>“Nu smeww pwetty nu mo', miwky fwend...”
>There's a tupperware container of leftovers begging you to give him some attention.
>But other than that and a few nuzzling condiment containers, there's not much.
>Time for an early grocery run.
>You grab your keys and head out to the car.
>Pressing the unlock button, your car perks up.
>”Meep meep! Whewe we going, daddy?”
>”Grocery store.”
>”Yay! Fwuffy wuv go to nummies stowe! Can fwuffy haf nummies, too?”
>”Yeah, I guess you could use some gas too, while we're at it.”
>”Daddy, nu fowget to check da engine!”
>”For the last time, I've taken you to a mechanic, he said there was nothing wrong. You can stop bugging me about it.”
>”But fwuffymobiwe nee' engine check. An' tiwe pwessuwe, an' wipew fwuid, an'...”
>You sigh. This is gonna be a fun trip. At least you can pick up your medication while you're there.
 
>The grocery store is a cacophony of noise.
>The produce section is nonstop sounds of fruits and vegetables begging to be taken home.
>”Pwease take fwuffy owange home!”
>”Fwuffy beanies high in fibew, make daddy poopies bettew! Take fwuffy beanies!”
>”Nubody wike eggpwant fwuffy...”
>”Fwuffy cwanbewwies haf wotsa anti-okkidants. Gif ocksidants big owwies! Make daddy feew heawthy!”
>You try to shut out their unceasing noise and go to grab some bananas.
>You find a good bunch, save for one that's a bit bruised and brown.
>No matter, you'll just remove it and buy the rest.
>”Nuuuu! Pwease nu take sissy 'way!”
>”What?”
>”Nu wan' go if sissy nu go wif us!”
>The other bananas all plead together.
>”Okay. Okay! Enough!.”
>You put the whole bunch in your cart, the bananas cheering and the mushy one crying tears of relief.
>You also grab some apples, and they hug excitedly in their bag, the plastic muffling their speech.
>Thank Christ for small miracles.
>You grab a few other items, all of whom cheer with glee at being picked to be taken home.
>They all promise to be good nummies, including, for some reason, the box of Q-tips
>You stop by the pharmacy.
>”I'm sorry sir, but your prescription won't be ready until tomorrow.”
>Oh, that's just fucking wonderful.
>Pick up some extra strength headache medicine and some sleeping aids on the way to the counter.
>Today is going to be a long day...
 
>Open the door and put the grocery bags down, sighing.
>Listening to your car try to hum off-key to the radio got old real fast.
>As you start putting the things away, the current cupboard inhabitants all greet their new friends happily.
>”Nu fwends! Fank yoo daddy!”
>”Daddy? Am hungwy.”
>”Yoo nummy fwend too? Am nummy fwend! Huggies!”
>”Fwuffy be bes' banananananas eba!”
>”Daddy?”
>You feel a tug on your pants leg.
>”Daddy?”
>”WHAT?!”
>You look down and see your actual, real fluffy pony, Chris, shrinking back away from you in fear.
>Godammit.
>You kneel down and pet his head. After initially yelping from the sudden outreach of your hand, Chris smiles at the contact.
>”I'm sorry for yelling, Chris. What is it?”
>”Am hungwy, daddy. Yoo not hewe when Chwis wakies.”
>”I had to go to the food store to get more food. Let me finish putting everything away. Why don't you play with all your friends while I do that?”
>”Wha' fwends?”
>”What do you mean? Look at all the fr-”
>You stop yourself as you gesture all around you.
>”Right. Nevermind. Just...go play with your ball or something, Chris. Daddy is...not feeling well.”
>Chris waddles forward and gives you a hug.
>”Daddy haf mo' sikkies?”
>You hug him back.
>”Yeah. I'm, um, having a hard day. Now run along.”
>Chris runs back into his safe room, trying to be quiet for your sake.
>He's a good little guy.
>You put the rest of the groceries away and microwave some instant oatmeal for Chris' breakfast.
>You also take out the mushy banana, and her fluffy banana brothers and sisters all shout their heartfelt goodbyes.
>Chopping the banana up into the oatmeal, you call Chris back in.
>You set the bowl down in front of him.
>”Fank yoo daddy. Wuv daddy!”
>”WUV DADDY!”
>Everything in the kitchen expresses its love for you, to the great chagrin of your ears.
>Delusional Companion Syndrome can be a real bitch sometimes.