In my early childhood, I got a nickname of Miss, that it would soon turn into a lady. At that time, it was not particularly popular, because in that period, mostly, they addressed each other with "camarad". I liked mine nickname well and I enjoyed it proudly, no matter what they thought they were mocking me that way. Even after many years, I sometimes meet with a mild irony in the voice of my interlocutors, whenever I insist on nice manners and nice interaction. Kindness and decency are probably something I was born with and can not get rid of them, despite numerous attempts to create from me a "natural" and "normal" person who curses, laughs and speaks loudly and so on and so on.
But, as there is always some "but" so I can not avoid it. The moment when all of my, to call it, sophistication, was questioned, was because of the cherry pie.
I recall that I was in someone's house as a guest and that there were many people and children of different ages, other circumstances faded me because of the time distance and the insignificant impact on the experience I am writing about.
The general disharmony prevailed in the room, they all tried to talk at the same time and freely attributed to all the chaos features. As I was fragile and gentle, I sat quietly from aside and felt that I did not belong there.
A hostess appeared with a tray full of cherry pies. That really was a nice sight, indeed. Lovely yellow cubes richly stained with dark, large cherries, all sprinkled with white powdered sugar. Unfortunately, I was not the only one who noticed this gorgeous beauty. Suddenly, from all sides, numerous hands showed up and greed appeared in it's bare form. There were squishing, complimenting the hostess, and of course there were also those who immediately grabbed two pieces.
The moment was destroyed and I felt anxiety. However, the tray was right in front of me with a few remaining pieces. I was offered to take, which, of course, I kindly refused with the intention to show that I was not rapacious and that the behavior of others was not appropriate. That moment was engraved in my memory like in the rock. Nothing could change anymore. Of course, there was a crying, after returning home. When my mom saw me crying asked me:
"So, why did not you take it?"
I had no suitable answer that she could accept. Since then, I've been wondering, and decades have passed, would my life go on some other paths, if I grabbed at least one piece of pies with cherries.