The little rolling pin

Once upon a time there was a little rolling pin called Little Red. He was made of wood, like most rolling pins, but instead of plain wooden handles, his were painted red. Now the little rolling pin was very proud of his handles. They were red, a most fabulous colour, and they had enough of a shine to make Little Red stand out amongst all the other rolling pins in the shop, even if he was the smallest.

 

Every time a customer came in, Little Red was sure that he would be picked to go home with them and take pride of place in their kitchen. He would dream of his life there, rolling out pastry for an apple tart on a Sunday afternoon or watching from the side of the flour-dusted table as biscuits were cut from the dough he had just rolled. As the customer approached the shelf, his pin would give a little roll as he settled back into the box with the others, delirious at the very thought and brimming with excitement. 

But nobody ever chose Little Pin and each time someone moved him aside to get at another rolling pin, his disappointment grew. Most customers never even noticed him, despite his shiny red handles. He finally gave up hope one day after a particularly nasty woman carelessly pushed him aside, while muttering to herself, 'What a piece of rubbish! Too small to be of any use and those handles would get scratched as soon as you picked it up'. Little Pin shuffled his way to the bottom of the box, hiding beneath all of the bigger rolling pins, unable to face any more disappointment. His dreams were dashed. There would be no kitchen where he would be used and loved for his role in bringing tarts and pies and biscuits to life.

Then one day a lady walked into the shop looking for something in particular, a rolling pin for her young daughter. She had been searching everywhere and despaired of ever finding a rolling pin that was small enough for her little hands to manage. Not expecting success, she half-heartedly poked through the box of rolling pins, seeing nothing but the usual large wooden pins. Just as she was about to give up, a glint of shiny red paint caught her eye. Pushing the other pins out of the way, she saw a little wooden rolling pin with beautiful red handles. It was perfect! Smiling in satisfaction, the lady carefully picked up the pin and took it to the counter to pay. And so Little Pin found his home and lived happily ever after with the little girl who loved to bake.

Yes, Readers, that is me in the photo, transfixed by the little rolling pin while Big Sis grins obligingly for the photo. I came across this old photograph recently and was very amused to see that my love of baking (and fancy kitchen utensils!) goes back quite a way. Sadly, I don't know where Little Pin is now, but he certainly left an impression on my two-year old self, and while I have no idea how he came to be in my possession, I like to think that this little story holds a grain of truth and that it was meant to be!