I was standing with Stinky, in the kitchen. Celestia had run out of cake and my brother had offered to bake her another one for the day, since the Royal Pastry Chef had gotten sick yesterday. Because ponies are ponies, they tend to sneeze a lot when they get sick, and having a cake that somepony sneezed on sounded bad. Stinky was sitting there in a chef hat, he had an apron and a chef uniform. He was sitting down, having chased out the rest of the kitchen staff in a rare instance of him not acting like an idiot, and was now nose deep in a cake recipe book.