The last mince pie

(first written a few years ago when I ran a blog under another name, and kinda appropriate for this time of year)

The last mince pie sat in its little box in the cupboard, all alone, with just the crumbs of its former neighbours for company.

On Christmas Day it had sat proudly on the decorated table at coffee time along with a plateful of hopeful companions. Being at the bottom of the carefully arranged pyramid its chances of consummation were perhaps limited but hope sprung eternal. The hour passed. Grasping hands removed brothers and sisters. Disappointment reigned when it and a few others returned despondently to their cardboard home.

Tea-time brought fresh expectations but sadly too much turkey and stuffing had negated the desire for titbits after a round or two of sandwiches. Boxing Day came and went. A journey to the table surrounded by sausage rolls, cheese biscuits and other savoury delights proved equally unsuccessful.

Festivities slowly evaporated and the little mince pie lay pitifully in the darkness of its box. The β€˜Best Before’ date came and went. The door opened and closed many times. Foods went and never returned. Still the last mince pie sat in pathetic isolation.

The time of Clear Out arrived. Sighs and regrets accompanied the jettisoning of stale or unwanted edibles. Slipping towards the looming dark interior of the black waste bag, the mince pie accepted its doom and awaited days of decay and breakdown.

Suddenly the careless hand of Fate intervened, and the mince pie fell, spinning, glancing off the outer edge of the plastic chasm. It bounced once, twice, three times across the carpeted floor then came to rest by a large, very large, wicker basket. A shiny wet nose sniffed the air close above the mince pie, sniffed again, lips began to dribble, and in one gulp an eager mouth swallowed it up.

And, dear reader, if you could have looked closely at that very moment, I believe you would have seen an enormous happy smile upon that little pie’s crust.

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