It just lie there, a crumpled up ball of mush sitting atop the plate. The dish used as its resting place however, was gorgeous. It was decorated with intricate floral patterns, the nice china, I was told. I had admired the dessert plate before, my eyes always trailing over the swirls and twists of the different flowers embedded in the stoneware. I thought to myself, these plates are so friendly, inviting even. They were created just to please the eye, not to have what passes for food masking the beauty underneath.
I look around the room and start noticing the other beautiful plates in the set. Six other dishes sit atop the table as well, each with its owner slowly revealing the beauty underneath each amazing creation. The artistry on mine still fully covered by the slop. I almost felt bad for the beautiful china, most of its life it is placed on a shelf, stacked gently in a hutch overlooking the cozy dining room. It has to overlook the daily use of the other dishes. It grows jealous of the wonderful food placed and eaten on those "everyday" plates. I can just imagine the plates whispering behind the glass.
"Look at the others." One would say, "They get to have all the fun."
Another would say "Think about it, we are special, unique, and EXPENSIVE." She would say drawing out the final word, "We are only meant to be used during special times of the year. " She says trying to cheer the others up.
"Well, that is true though I wish we were let out of this glass prison for more than just this horrible day." Spoken in a rough voice.
I knew the plates would despise this day, because I too despise this day. Well it is not so much the day I dislike, it is the food served. My Aunt insists, every year that she must make her "specialty". Pumpkin Pie. She would brag about it days before, How she is making several for the family, "so there can be left overs." She would say in a high pitched, braggy voice over the telephone.
I started to pick at my pie. I would take small bites then quickly rush in water to get rid of the taste, like I was slowly starting a fire and extingishing it before there were flames.
I peer around again and notice that all of the plates, with the exception of mine,are now exposing the platters true beauty. The slop had been eaten off of every single dish. My dish weeping with jealousy. Its attraction still hidden under a "quarter" of a slice.
Once the pie, and I use the term pie loosely, was dropped onto the plate it had lost all form. It was indeed just a pile of mush. I figured it was time to face it, like my relatives had, and devour this unedible pie.This exquisite plate deserved to be glamourous once again.
I know they disliked it as much as I did but they would never say anything that would mock the host.
So I scarfed down the rest of the pie in two large mouthfuls. I chewed them quickly and swallowed the remains. I then chased it with half a glass of water.
I could hear the china thanking me. "That is also the worst dish I have ever had. See you next year."
