"We have New York Cheese Cake, our Mississippi Mud Pie, our Key Lime Pie, our Chocolate Madness, our Crème Brule, a scoop of our home-made vanilla ice cream, and our Middle Path," my waitress rattled off as she gesticulated at the dessert-filled dishes and bowls on her tray. Her blond curls bounced with every hand movement.

"What?" I asked looking up from the book I was reading during my solitary lunch: How to Choose, When to Choose, What to Choose: Making the Right Choices. The author had been on the radio this morning: self-help guru I hadn’t heard of before. So far he had helped me make one choice: to purchase his book during my morning break. And judging by the platter in Jeni the waitress’ hands, I’d be making another choice real soon. I hoped reading the introduction would be enough to help me with this important decision.

"What did you call that last one?” I asked, pointing to a brownish, creamy substance in a goblet.

"Oh. That’s our Middle Path!” Jeni stated with great excitement. "We just added it to the menu.”

"What’s in it?”

"Everything.”

"Everything?”

Jeni shifted her weight to her left foot, the tray to her left hand. She waved her ring-laden hand across the items surrounding The Middle Path. “It’s a special treat for people who have difficulty choosing between our many delicious dessert selections. Chef Bertrum places specially chosen portions of every item on our dessert menu in a blender and voila! you can have everything!”

"Why do you blend it? Why not a sampler platter instead?” I asked.

At this, she laughed, nearly tipping the Chocolate Madness off her tray. "Why that would completely defeat the purpose! You would still have to make choices. Which one to sample first, which one to eat last." She smiled brightly at me.

I didn't smile back. I had an uneasy feeling that unfinished desserts were being specially chosen to be part of The Middle Path. What an odd name! I had to ask! "And it's called The Middle Path, because…?"

Jeni's blue eyes blinked at me blankly. "I don't know. The chef just came up with it." She shifted back to her right foot, the desserts slid to the starboard side of the tray.

A city bus screeched, stopping, framed in the restaurant window. The bus was painted black with a large advertisement on its side: The Middle Path. A celebrity's inflated head smiled out to passers-by.

The waitress glanced at the bus, but apparently didn't notice the advertisement, because she still seemed puzzled about the name.

Subliminal messages. I had read about it.

"Interesting," I said, "but I am not quite ready for dessert. I haven't yet finished my…" I pointed toward the place where my plate had been. My eyes ran methodically across the table. The basket of Italian bread and honey butter was missing too. "Who moved my plate?" I demanded.

Jeni blushed. "We thought you were done. There was just a piece of cheese and a pickle on that plate."

"But it was my cheese, and I was going to eat it!" I was really angry now.

A neck-tied manager labeled Dave magically appeared at my table, snatching the dessert tray from Jeni's turbulent, shaking hands. He motioned to her that she could go compose herself in the backroom and forget about the irate customer. "Is there a problem?" he asked with a toothy smile.

"Yes," I said. "Somebody moved my cheese."

"And?"

"And I wasn't finished with it!" I exploded.