Digby Digging-Dance had been red-faced and weak-kneed all day. Today's humiliating dress resembled a French maids outfit, but with more frills, matching high heels, and a yellow, white and pink colour scheme. That and a silly hat made to look like a giant cherry atop a bed of whipped cream, gave Digby the appearance of a walking bowl of pudding. Some of the customers chuckled. Some made comments. Some catcalled. Everyone stared.
On the bright side, Mr Creampie had yet to reprimand Digby on a single issue today. Maybe he was distracted by the dress. Or perhaps the threat of the boss's temper truly was the motivation Digby needed to focus his skills and become a better pastry chef.
"Piggy! Come here!" Mr Creampie exhaustingly rang out each word from the other side of Just Desserts. Digby hopped to, understanding immediately that the boss was referring to himself. Mr Creampie had never once used Digby's name, instead referring to the fae as Piggy, or Piglet, or Lard Ass, or Fatsack. Once the boss made the entire diner laugh by officially dubbing his employee Princess Piglet Puddingpants.
"Yes Mr Creampie?" Digby enquired as gently and politely as humanly possible. He approached the hulking boss cautiously as he attended a table of customers, all with pale, disgusted faces. Mr Creampie's eyes shot accusingly at Digby, while his mouth struggled to suppress a wide smirk.
"Did you top these desserts with whipped cream this morning?" The question was presented as an easy one, a quick answer was required.
"Yes sir". A pause.
"And did you notice anything off about the cream this morning?" Digby's heart started pounding. His body went numb and weak.
"N-no, sir?" Digby's mind raced. Even among faekind, Digby possessed an acute hypersensitivity to smell, taste and touch. Had there been anything off about a single ingredient in his kitchen, Digby would have felt the foulness the second he walked into the diner. The cream was definitely fresh this morning. The cream was definitely fresh a moment ago. But how could this be? Standing over the table now, Digby's heart sank as he whiffed the unmistakable odour of sour milk.
"Huh?" The boss mused with melodramatic confusion, drawing gazes from around the diner. He carefully picks up the closest dessert, a lemon meringue pie, and gives it an inquisitive sniff. "How strange. Because these lovely customers have said, and after smelling I have to agree, that the cream has turned. Were you not aware of this Piggy?"
"I'm sorry Mr Creampie. The cream smelled fine thi-"
"What?!" This time his shout drew the entire diner's attention to the table. "How dare you insult the intelligence of my valued customers with your blatant lies! You're just trying to cover the fact that you're a pathetic excuse for a chef who can't even tell the difference fresh and rancid cream!" The customers in question looked positively outraged by Digby's mistake thanks to the boss's showmanship. "Here. Perfect learning experience for ya Piggy. Just for reference, this...," Mr Creampie stood beside Digby, holding the lemon meringue pie up to the pig's chinny chin chin. "Is a perfectly good pie, stupidly topped with rancid cream. You smell that?" Digby was too nervous to talk, so instead he nodded his head slightly, careful not to get cream on his chin. "You sure piggy? Come on now, breathe through your mouth. Taste the smelI on your toungue. I need to know that you've got this. Open wide!" With Digby's heightened senses the odour was already horribly intolerable. But Digby could feel his boss's temper rising, so reluctantly he slowly opened his mouth. With his mouth wide open he took a slow deep breathe in, then all the way out, then- SMUSH. Mr Creampie held the back of Digby's head with one hand, while slowly squishing the lemon meringue pie into the fae's face with the other. "That's it Piglet, Take it all in!" He jeered as he smeared the pie aroud Digby's face, filling his nostrils with cream, curd and crust. The diner errupted with mockery and laughter. The show was about to begin. To be continued.