"My Magical Pony Ride in Central Park: A Tale of Splendor, Betrayal, and Glue"

Ever since I was a kid, I dreamed of galloping majestically through Central Park on the back of a glorious steed. The wind in my hair, pigeons scattering like extras in a Disney movie, tourists snapping pics like I was some kind of cowboy prince from a Netflix original series.

Well, folks... dreams do come true. Sort of.

There I was, living my best life. I found a pony (okay fine, it was a horse—but in my heart, he was a pony named Majestic Thunderfluff) and I climbed on like I was born in a saddle. Cue the romantic violin music. Cue the slow-mo montage. I was the main character, dammit.

But then.

Majestic Thunderfluff betrayed me.

Mid-strut, mid-glory, mid-"look at me, I’m a cowboy in Manhattan"—the little bastard bucked. Not a casual “oops” stumble. No. This was full-on yeet. I went airborne. I saw stars. I saw pigeons laugh. One guy clapped. Some child pointed and yelled “Do it again!”

Now, here I am. Dusty. Bruised. Possibly concussed. And Googling, "How do you make horsey glue?"

Don’t look at me like that. It’s a joke. (Kind of.)

Majestic Thunderfluff has been returned to the stable with a warning and a side-eye from yours truly. We will not be doing brunch.

To the beautiful people of Central Park: I’m sorry for yelling "GLUE FACTORY" like a madman. I was in pain, emotionally and physically.

To Majestic Thunderfluff: You were the wind beneath my wings. And then you were the wind under my butt. Traitor.

To everyone reading this: chase your dreams. But maybe wear a helmet. And bring carrots. Horses respect snacks.