Prompt: Select a kitchen item; write from its perspective
Look. I know I’m pretty. I get it. I saw how your eyes traveled all across me and you didn’t want to sully me by putting me to work.
I get it.
Seriously, I know Whoever (God or Whoever you believe in) designed me made me to be beautiful, and no one likes feeling used.
But, I also don’t want to be this false idol. You hang me from the tile backsplash, thinking it an honor. Thinking I’d be grateful or something. You treat it like it’s a privilege.
And it’s not that I’m not appreciative. It’s just I think the other kitchen implements are going to start to talk.
I’m starting to feel like it’s a sacrifice. Like hanging a Norse god from a tree. Maybe I’m meant to hear their murmuring. Maybe I’m supposed to feel like this is a punishment.
They see me hanging with my turquoise detailing and they whisper among themselves. They tell themselves I’m arrogant or conceited.
I’m just a simple set of pans. I know. I know. It’s a compliment, especially since you can’t figure out how to use your stovetop, but a frying pan is supposed to fry things once and a while.
The other kitchen implements and utensils are starting to gossip, and honestly, that kind of hurts my feelings.
Whatever. I’m just pans, I guess. Maybe I’m overthinking this. That rag that hangs over the faucet likes to remind me that I’m overly dramatic and emotional, but seriously, what does it know? It’s just a scrap of fabric, you know?
It’s just not always easy being the pretty one.
Isabelle Palerma 