The Rt. Hon.
Apple Pie To Be Or Not To Be
APPLE PIE TO BE OR NOT TO!
Dearest Hannah,
Trust not the silver-tongued temptress in the flat above mine with whom you had planned to spend the day.
It began on Friday evening – ie three days ago – and it was only this morning, Monday, Monday – ie three days later, three days of wanting, three days of anticipation, of perceived bliss to come – when my hopes were cruelly shattered, and shattered in such a cavalier manner, you would not believe! So, heed my words – put no faith in our erstwhile friend, do not permit your hopes to be raised, not even a fraction, because they will be sorely dashed, as were mine.
It was on Friday evening when she said “I’ve bought this organic apple pie and organic crème fraiche for you for after our dinner tonight.” I needn’t tell you how my heart leapt. After dinner came the first suggestion of what was to come when I was told “I’m a bit full. You don’t really want the pie now, do you?” Being polite, of course I said that I did not, but was not too worried when told that I could have it the next day.
Saturday evening came and, in typically subtle fashion, I hinted that I might like a piece of pie – “I want some pie.” I said. “Not now, it takes 40 minutes. I’ll keep you some tomorrow,” she answered. I bit back the disappointment but maintained that glimmer of hope for Sunday, still foolishly trusting the woman I have called ‘friend’.
On Sunday I mentioned the pie in passing – “Where’s my pie?” I said, only to be told “You can’t have it tonight. I’m cooking it for Betty. I’ll save you some.” I let pass the fact that my portion had now shrunk from half to one third, but I continued to trust. Would that I had been less naive!
That evening I ate early so that I would have plenty of room for my pie, and I left laid out the cutlery and bowl (a big one) expecting any minute that the doorbell would ring and ‘Pie on Wheels’ would appear. But alas, as I am sure you will by now have realised, there was no doorbell, no pie, there was no little bit of pleasure in my stark, empty life, a little pleasure which could so easily have been bestowed had someone’s greed not intervened. So, tearfully, I cleared away the cutlery and bowl and went sadly to bed.
Monday morning she calls in and brightly, yes, gaily, with no hint of regret or remorse, no concern for my crushed feelings, gleefully says “We ate all the pie. It was delicious!”
Only you can truly understand the despair of thwarted anticipation. Only you will not judge me for my foolishness, my gullibility, my belief in someone so clearly lacking in any sensitivity to the pleasures of indulgence. So that is why I warn you. You are sensitive too and I would not wish you to suffer what I have gone through these last three days.
Thanks for being there.
Jan
PS Do not worry too much about me. Just writing to you has eased the pain somewhat, and soon I will be able to put it all behind me and emerge a stronger, less trusting human being.
Nov 1999
Dearest Hannah,
Trust not the silver-tongued temptress in the flat above mine with whom you had planned to spend the day.
It began on Friday evening – ie three days ago – and it was only this morning, Monday, Monday – ie three days later, three days of wanting, three days of anticipation, of perceived bliss to come – when my hopes were cruelly shattered, and shattered in such a cavalier manner, you would not believe! So, heed my words – put no faith in our erstwhile friend, do not permit your hopes to be raised, not even a fraction, because they will be sorely dashed, as were mine.
It was on Friday evening when she said “I’ve bought this organic apple pie and organic crème fraiche for you for after our dinner tonight.” I needn’t tell you how my heart leapt. After dinner came the first suggestion of what was to come when I was told “I’m a bit full. You don’t really want the pie now, do you?” Being polite, of course I said that I did not, but was not too worried when told that I could have it the next day.
Saturday evening came and, in typically subtle fashion, I hinted that I might like a piece of pie – “I want some pie.” I said. “Not now, it takes 40 minutes. I’ll keep you some tomorrow,” she answered. I bit back the disappointment but maintained that glimmer of hope for Sunday, still foolishly trusting the woman I have called ‘friend’.
On Sunday I mentioned the pie in passing – “Where’s my pie?” I said, only to be told “You can’t have it tonight. I’m cooking it for Betty. I’ll save you some.” I let pass the fact that my portion had now shrunk from half to one third, but I continued to trust. Would that I had been less naive!
That evening I ate early so that I would have plenty of room for my pie, and I left laid out the cutlery and bowl (a big one) expecting any minute that the doorbell would ring and ‘Pie on Wheels’ would appear. But alas, as I am sure you will by now have realised, there was no doorbell, no pie, there was no little bit of pleasure in my stark, empty life, a little pleasure which could so easily have been bestowed had someone’s greed not intervened. So, tearfully, I cleared away the cutlery and bowl and went sadly to bed.
Monday morning she calls in and brightly, yes, gaily, with no hint of regret or remorse, no concern for my crushed feelings, gleefully says “We ate all the pie. It was delicious!”
Only you can truly understand the despair of thwarted anticipation. Only you will not judge me for my foolishness, my gullibility, my belief in someone so clearly lacking in any sensitivity to the pleasures of indulgence. So that is why I warn you. You are sensitive too and I would not wish you to suffer what I have gone through these last three days.
Thanks for being there.
Jan
PS Do not worry too much about me. Just writing to you has eased the pain somewhat, and soon I will be able to put it all behind me and emerge a stronger, less trusting human being.
Nov 1999