There’s a Pavlova in the Middle of the Table
There’s a pavlova in the middle of the table. To be more accurate, there’s a third of a pavlova in the middle of the table. There were four whole ones when Mum took them out last night for a catering job. Now it’s Sunday morning and this is all that’s left.
Surrounding the pavlova is a third of a sponge cake already cut up, nearly half a trifle and a wee bowl of fruit salad with the banana pieces starting to go a bit yuk. But the pavlova is the prize pickings. A half would have been better, more to go round. Mum probably doesn’t want any, after making them all, so that leaves five of us for breakfast. And the slow and sleepy will miss out, so that’s Dad eliminated. Down to four. The mission is to put the first-in-firstserved principle into action and do it before the big sisters find out the size of said pavlova leftovers. This will involve sneakiness, stealth and diversions.
Since Mum has left everything out on the table, there’s no need to mask the noise of the fridge door opening; it is still the era of glass milk bottles, and those things rattle and could send an alert to the sisters. The trick is getting past the obstacle of the cupboard door that sticks to get to a bowl, before tackling the slow opening of the cutlery drawer and removing a spoon with the aptitude gained from Jenga playing. There are noises emerging from the two oldest sisters’ bedroom. No need for the grab and hide yet. A slice of sponge on a plate if they are still sleepy enough won’t raise suspicions. I grab two plates. No cutlery – too hard to hold, and dropping it would be disastrous.
They can eat with their fingers. I casually enter the hostile zone and slip the sponge cake under their noses. It works! I slip out of the room smoothly. In the hallway, I feel a chilly stare boring into my back. The last sister is up, standing at our shared bedroom door with a look of, you’d better not be doing what I think you’re doing without me. Ah, well, my attempt was admirable, but since I’ve been caught the best option is to turn the enemy into a co-conspirator.
I give a resigned nod that she understands clearly, and we quietly make our way back to the dining room. She gets her own plate and spoon, and I slide the pavlova from the middle of the table towards us. We both look at the yummy mound of deliciousness, oh so worth it. She cuts, I choose the right piece and place it on my plate. She gets hers and we quietly slip outside.
There is no pavlova left in the middle of the table.