My parents always used to stack their plates with endplates on the top and bottom of the stack. That way the stack knew that it was indeed an official stack, and not just a random collection of plates that may or may not have been intentionally placed in a vertically oriented manner.
The endplates had special markings on the top and bottom to let you — and the plates — know that these were these special endplates. These weren’t your everyday plates, the kind that would plagiarize essays from your flatware when you weren’t looking. Or the kind that would go out exploring the neighborhood all night, in the rain, coming back the next morning bedraggled, wet, and muddy, clearly from partying far too hard. And then you’d have to send the plates to detoxify their plate-bodies and overcome their addictions. I really hate plates sometimes.
But these endplates are not those plates. These endplates can:
- Keep your regular plates in line, at least as much of a line as plates can be kept in. Some plates just can’t be controlled.
- Teleport you to Quebec just by you snoring in their vicinity.
- Protect you from terrible killer tigers that want to eat you and set your house on fire.
- Store 300 GB of plate pornography, completely password-protected to keep it away from prying dishes.
- Turn water into kerosene.
- Quack, if the situation really calls for a quacking plate.
Yes, these endplates were special things. I miss them with most of my hearts. One day I hope to meet them again, but until then, I’ll always have Paris.