To Eat or Not to Eat — A Conference Room Dilemma
I am seated in a grand conference hall — an old palace, no less, now draped in the quiet elegance of a luxury hotel. The presentation is serious. The stakes are high. The Wi-Fi is excellent.
And then it arrived.
A dessert. Or perhaps a pudding.
Honestly, it deserves its own title. Layers of white crust, fresh strawberries, blueberries, each tier more dramatic than the last — garnished like it was styled for a magazine cover.
A small, edible masterpiece placed, by some careless stroke of fate, exactly between me and the woman to my left.
One dessert. Two people. Zero clarity on who it belongs to.
The waiter, bless him, miscounted. And now neither of us will touch it, because we are civilised, dignified adults in a very important room.
Meanwhile, the gentleman to my right has absolutely no such concerns. He carved into it ten minutes ago and his face has been in a state of quiet euphoria ever since. Every bite a small celebration. Every chew an endorsement.
She and I? Still side-eyeing the masterpiece in perfect, polite, agonising silence.
It has been ten minutes.
The dessert sits. Pristine. Undisturbed. Almost mocking us.
Stay tuned. One of us will blink first. 😅🍓
[Just an Update …]
So. Turns out I blinked.
With five minutes to go before I'm up at the dias, something had to give. I turned, extended a hand and introduced myself.
She looked up. "Rumi."
Lovely name.
I gestured toward the untouched masterpiece between us …
"You haven't touched your dessert" …..
My most dignified attempt at a graceful exit
She smiled. A knowing smile.
I'm choosing to take that smile as my consolation prize.
And then it arrived.
A dessert. Or perhaps a pudding.
Honestly, it deserves its own title. Layers of white crust, fresh strawberries, blueberries, each tier more dramatic than the last — garnished like it was styled for a magazine cover.
A small, edible masterpiece placed, by some careless stroke of fate, exactly between me and the woman to my left.
One dessert. Two people. Zero clarity on who it belongs to.
The waiter, bless him, miscounted. And now neither of us will touch it, because we are civilised, dignified adults in a very important room.
Meanwhile, the gentleman to my right has absolutely no such concerns. He carved into it ten minutes ago and his face has been in a state of quiet euphoria ever since. Every bite a small celebration. Every chew an endorsement.
She and I? Still side-eyeing the masterpiece in perfect, polite, agonising silence.
It has been ten minutes.
The dessert sits. Pristine. Undisturbed. Almost mocking us.
Stay tuned. One of us will blink first. 😅🍓
[Just an Update …]
So. Turns out I blinked.
With five minutes to go before I'm up at the dias, something had to give. I turned, extended a hand and introduced myself.
She looked up. "Rumi."
Lovely name.
I gestured toward the untouched masterpiece between us …
"You haven't touched your dessert" …..
My most dignified attempt at a graceful exit
She smiled. A knowing smile.
I'm choosing to take that smile as my consolation prize.
