A Minor Inconvenience by Ian Walker-Sperber

I woke up in the hollow of a spoon, my long blond hair floating atop the soup. I was ensconced in a hot minestrone. I was too tired to dip my chin down for a gulp of broth, but from the smell alone I knew that it was delicious. A grain of barley bobbed against my elbow. I could sense a chopped celery stalk hovering above my groin.

A man with well-trimmed blond hair towered above me. He wore a fashionable jacket, with velvet lapels, and a paisley ascot. He was, I surmised, a socialite. He did his best to maintain a lively conversation with his friends, but he was evidently perturbed that I was awake. He pursed his lips and shot me a sideways glare, much like an angry fish.

I would have liked to explain to the man, who could well have been my brother, that I had not intended to spy on him from his soup, but that I had ended up here for reasons much beyond my understanding. Yet my voice would have been too shrill for him to understand. And I had already started to doze off again, reclining further into my well-seasoned bath.

The man wanted to get rid of me before I was spotted, which would have been very embarrassing and might involve an angry conversation with the kitchen, when the evening had otherwise gone so well. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, as he nodded appreciatively to the beautiful, animated young man seated beside him, he swirled me around the bowl, scooping up a few barley grains and a lonely carrot, then spooned me into his mouth, covering his enormous bite fastidiously.

The man’s mouth was not so warm as the soup. Still, swaddled between his tongue and palate, I felt relatively comfortable, as much as might be allowed in the circumstances.

It is polite to chew discreetly, long enough to show pleasure in the intricacies of a dish, but without ostentation. The man did his best, nodding furtively as he held his handkerchief to his mouth. I was probably oversalted, as I had sweat a lot, though if the chef knew his trade, then he had likely undersalted the soup in anticipation. Regardless, the man was too frantic to notice, and, after a few tentative nibbles on my limbs, swallowed me intact, excepting the strands of hair that had gotten caught between his teeth.

I don’t remember what happened next. I recall it was hard getting down the esophagus. I imagine the man’s face went very red. But hopefully his friends were too polite to comment. I know that I would have forgiven him. The duties of one’s social circles are never-ending. When faced with unexpected embarrassments, it is best to carry on with stern resolve, to display a cheerful demeanor and act as though nothing has happened.