Dear Princess Celestia,
Today, I learned a very important lesson—not about friendship, but about the horrifying reality of public restrooms, specifically those within the confines of a place called Wal-Mart. Princess, I have been to the Everfree Forest. I have faced cockatrices, hydras, and Timberwolves. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for what I encountered in that unholy chamber of filth.
At first, I was relieved to see the sign indicating a restroom, as I had foolishly consumed a large iced coffee from the in-store McDonald's (which, in hindsight, was my first mistake). But as I stepped inside, my relief turned to immediate and utter despair. The scent hit me first—a noxious combination of mildew, ammonia, and something... sinister. It clung to the air like a malevolent spell, a cruel warning to all who dared enter.
The floors, oh, Princess, the floors! A slick, sticky substance coated the tiles, its origins unknown, yet undoubtedly a health hazard. The sinks, encrusted with soap scum and unidentifiable grime, seemed to have been abandoned in their duty to provide cleanliness. A single, overworked faucet dribbled lukewarm water at an angle so bizarre, I had to question whether Discord himself had meddled with it.
And then, the stalls. Oh, the stalls.
Each one a unique disaster. Some bore doors that barely latched, leaving an unsettling gap wide enough for an accidental game of uncomfortable eye contact with a stranger. Others had missing toilet paper, the lone, sad cardboard roll spinning uselessly in the wind of despair. And then there was the forbidden stall—the one I dared not enter, for the horrors within were beyond comprehension. A clogged toilet, a mountain of paper, and something floating that should not be floating. I will not describe it further.
Worst of all, despite the clear evidence of absolute devastation, a faded, chipped sign hung on the wall, claiming: "Cleaned Every Hour." Lies, Princess. Lies. Either their method of cleaning involves summoning a particularly lazy gremlin who merely surveys the wreckage and sighs, or the very fabric of time distorts itself within this restroom, making "hourly" cleaning an impossibility.
I have seen darkness this day. I have faced it, and I have emerged—shaken, scarred, but alive. And if there is one thing I have learned, it is this: Some places are beyond even the magic of friendship.
Your traumatized and forever wary student,
Twilight Sparkle