Two ponies sat across one another at a small, intimate table tucked away in the corner of a restaurant. It was the sort of place that required a tie to get in and maybe a well-greased hoof to get in that century. But nonetheless, the two ponies sat at their table, ivory white cloth draping down, two empty plates, five forks, three spoons, and exactly seven knives accompanied by a single small coffee cup between them. At tall, cream-colored candle stood at the center, splitting the image of one another’s face as the silky orange light spilled across their faces.

The first pony, a stallion with a brown coat and black, slicked back mane dressed in a black dress coat, white dress shirt, and a bowtie—which caused some stir amongst the staff when they arrived for seating whether it counted as a tie, and ancient bylaws dating back decades were invoked to indeed say it did. After all, no one had worn such a ridiculous fashion statement since plaid was in style, and most, except lumberjacks, agreed that was a mistake.

Across from him, a soft-featured mare with a flowing golden mane, a dark blue evening gown and green eyes that popped against her pale blue coat. Coincidently the staff made no commotion over her attire despite most agreeing it was gauche to wear dark blue with a pale blue coat.

The two stared at one another, cheeks resting in hooves—certainly poor enough manners to get them kicked out, but the waiter let it slide on account of his generous tip given beforehand. The light flickered, dancing in one another’s eyes as they fell deeper and deeper into a trance.

A short cough broke their locked gazes, and the waiter poured the two glasses of wine and took his leave.

The stallion chuckled, turning a wide grin back to his partner. Taking the glass with a hoof—which, for some reason worked and no one ever questioned how one grips with hooves—he took a short sip. “Honey, I have to confess, tonight is a special night.”

“I knew it!” Honey—which was her name as well as his pet name for her and did cause a few scenes involving punched strangers—clapped her hooves together. “I know you can’t afford this place on your salary. Whose kidney did you sell?”

He merely laughed, brushing the question off with a hoof. “I swear I didn’t sell any [i]left[/i] kidneys for this table.”

She squirmed in her seat. “That doesn’t rule out [i]right[/i] kidneys.” Again, she clapped her hooves.

“I swear, your mother won’t miss it.” Daintily, he placed a hoof on his chest. “But I did bring you here for something important besides some playful banter.” With the same hoof, he reached down into his jacket pocket, and again—ignoring how hooves do such—he pulled free a small felt box.

The mare’s eyes went wide as her jaw dropped.

Another short cough as the waiter closed the lady’s mouth for her and took his leave once more.

“Would you marry me?” the stallion asked, his smirk growing so wide it almost popped right off his face.

She covered her mouth, and with a quivering voice said, “I have a small fib I’ve been keeping from you…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is it that you love me and accept, which will make this stallion just [i]the[/i] happiest?”

She shook her head. “I, [i]too[/i], am a stallion…” And with that, her ears folded back with her hoof falling to the table top.

Her partner placed his hoof on hers, raising his eyebrow repeatedly. “I know.”