*Draft Never Posted*

This morning, I did what any rational adult does when confronted with a homemade lemon cake:

I bit first.

No questions.

Half a slice straight into my mouth like a man with confidence and nothing left to lose.

Mid-chew, something shifted.

A texture.

Soft. Damp. Suspiciously… floral.

That’s when the question hit me:

Was that flower a garnish… or a decoration?

Welcome to the Edible Twilight Zone

Here’s the hard truth no one wants to say out loud:

We are living in an age of plating betrayal.

Some flowers are edible.

Some are strictly for visual foreplay.

No one tells you which.

And when you accidentally eat the wrong one, it’s your fault — not the chef’s, not the baker’s, not the lifestyle blogger who styled it with tweezers and vibes.

It’s you.

The eater.

The fool.

The man who dared to trust.

Garnish vs Decoration: The Reckoning

Let’s get clinical for a second:

• Garnish: Edible. Intentional. Placed on the plate because it enhances flavor, texture, or presentation. It is an invitation — if not a dare — to consume.
• Decoration: Edible-adjacent at best. Often beautiful, always risky. Placed for aesthetic purposes only. If you eat it, you’re suddenly the uncultured savage who “doesn’t get it.”

But here’s the kicker:

They look the same.

The Problem Isn’t the Flower — It’s the Betrayal

You trusted the cake.

The cake looked trustworthy.

And no one ever tells you when a trust fall is a setup.

It’s not just confusing, it’s emotional whiplash.

And you know what it really felt like?

Imagine someone handing you a business card, full family photo, personal phone number, and their wife’s number, then getting mad when you actually call her.

“Why are you calling my wife?”

Uh… because you gave me the fucking number. On a laminated invitation. With smiling faces and a quote about teamwork?

You can’t give people access and then crucify them for using it.

You can’t plate a flower and act shocked when someone puts it in their mouth.

My Mouth Made the Only Moral Choice

Yes, I ate the flower.

Out of duty.

Out of principle.

It existed in a quantum state of garnish and decoration — and the only way to collapse the wave function was to chew it.

It was… fine.

A little soapy.

A little perfumy.

And yes, I finished the cake and went back for more.

Let This Be a Warning

If you don’t want it eaten, don’t serve it.

Don’t act coy with your hibiscus.

Don’t seduce me with petals,

then shame me when I swallow.

Because when I sit down at the table, I come with one assumption and one assumption only:

If it’s on the plate, it’s fair game.

And if I die,

covered in edible glitter and confusion,

I die a man who lived by the fork,

and fell by the flower.

And to you?

Don’t serve me your flower.

It will get eaten.