#nonconforming

Your favourite dish isn't the main course however, you discover at once. No biggie. And sure, it's potato and lentil soup, a dish which you've eaten a few too many times, or might even just not be able to eat at all. "Everyone likes it," the organiser and others say, "and we have to cater to the majority." Fine, fine. They have a point. And there are side-dishes, too. But your favourite dish isn't a starter. It's not an apetizer, nor is it a dessert or a cheese platter afterwards. It's a small bowl, at the other end of the table, and you can hardly see it. If you manage to get there, or get it to you, you discover it's actually made from wax. Perfect in every detail, maybe, or perhaps it's sloppily made. But it's there.

Everyone waits for you to exclaim delightedly, to thank them for their thoughtfulness, to be overjoyed and express your gratitude.

And if you don't, or point out the misleading information from the start, or criticise something… woe be unto you. You will probably be considered as having ruined the entire dinner. For everyone. Even those who just sat quiet and noticed the weird discrepancy, but didn't, doesn't ever, say anything.

Well, perhaps someone said some food kind of adjacent to your favourite dish was going to be served. Or a drink that goes well with it, but not the dish itself.

In the end, though, the sum is the same: You didn't get to eat, or even taste, perhaps hardly even see, the favourite dish. Even though this time you'd been specifically promised. And everyone really hates it if you complain.

That's a sort of similarity to what it feels like, hearing someone say "there's going to be POC/LGBTQAI+/non-monogamous/any-minority-at-all representation in this film/theatre/art/book/tv-series/any-media-at-all!" and then finding out the reality of it. Because, well, that's how it generally ends. If you're lucky, you can have a glass of water. That goes together even with wax.