Jeanmarie looked at the sad little pile of ravioli on her plate.

It wasn’t flavourful; one bite had determined that. She had no sauce to spruce it up, and the inside was filled with a bland potato concoction she had hoped she had spiced enough, but having not sampled it, now knew she hadn’t.

Jeanmarie’s ravioli was bland, beige, and uninspired. She knew for next time. But at the least, she had made this herself, and that lent it a certain power. She dove her fork in for another bite, determined to finish it.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s