Soarin looked at himself and his outfit one more time in the dressing room mirror.

What little of an outfit it was. Thought the stallion.

His inner reflections was interrupted by a series of sharp knocks on the dressing room door. A few seconds later the raspy, voice of Captain Spitfire could be heard on the other side of the door.

"Soarin are you ready? The photographer is waiting!"

The cloud blue stallion adjusted his thong for the hundredth time. "Um, Captain, whose idea was this?"

Spitfire growled. "Blame Fleetfoot! Now getting your butt out here!" Calender by Baron-Engel

"I thought we were going to do a wet t-shirt calendar this year?" The stallion plaintively.

"No! Were not doing wet t-shirts!" Growled the mare. "Now get your tail out here or I'll come in there and drag you out by it!"

Soarin sighed and stepped out of the dressing room. Oh, the things he did for fundraisers.

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