The Painful Pit

Before you read my myth, listen to my reflection on what I learned during this unit:

Pitoria, the most beautiful lady in the polis, strutted into the agora, carrying her empty bag.  As she strode past the other villagers, they gazed at her, entranced by her beauty.  They knew her well, but were so captivated with her that every time that they laid eyes on her, they halted whatever they were doing to soak in her image.  Like Medusa, Pitoria had the ability to turn people into statues if only for a moment, but unlike Medusa, it was because of pure god-like beauty instead of a grotesque form.  Pitoria knew this well, and had long since ignored the gaping stares from those around her.

On this particular day, with her nose in the air, she browsed the wares before her, stopping in front of a stall with rows of ornate pottery.  She eyed the red and black-figured vases depicting mythical creatures and young heroes, but none of them kept her interest for long.

Behind the table, Euclid, a well-known potter, sat at his potter's wheel, leaning over his next masterpiece.  Glancing up from his work, he saw Pitoria before him and immediately stopped the wheel.  "Finally, you've come," Euclid whispered, rising slowly from his workbench.

        Pitoria glanced at him.  Here we go again, she thought.   Another doting fool.
        Euclid dashed to the end of the table where an entire series of bowls and vases with the image of a most beautiful lady.  He bent down and picked up a gold-plated vase.  As he approached Pitoria, he held it up with both hands so she could see the image of the woman that he had crafted.
        With his bright blue eyes staring into hers, he said, "It's you, the woman on all of my vases. I've made sure that your beauty is captured for eternity for all of mankind to see."  He held out the vase for Pitoria to take it.
        She took it in her hand, held it up to the light, and with one swift motion, she threw it down, smashing it into pieces on the ground.  "Nothing can come close to my beauty," she spat. “Even Aphrodite herself would be lucky to lay her eyes on me.”
        Wincing and cowering, Euclid bent down to collect the shards.  He dared not to say anything for fear that Pitoria would leave his stall sooner than he hoped.
        Meanwhile, not far from the polis, Aphrodite was strolling alongside a stream, collecting Narcissus flowers and placing them in her long flowing locks, when all of a sudden she heard Echo’s beautiful faint voice call out, “Aphrodite…lucky to lay her eyes on me.”

Wondering what mortal may have uttered these words, she raced in the direction of the voice toward the polis.  Not wanting to alarm the villagers, she disguised herself as an old woman in tattered rags pulling a cart full of olives.

In no time at all, Aphrodite, now a decrepit merchant woman, set herself down in the agora among the citizens just as Pitoria approached her stall.

As soon as she laid eyes on her, she knew Pitoria was the one.

        “Excuse me, my lady,” began the old woman.  “But surely you must be the Goddess of Beauty, Aphrodite, herself.  Your face shines brighter than Helios’s rays of golden light.”
        Pitoria glanced down at the woman.  “Surely you jest,” she spat.  “Aphrodite would cringe with jealousy if she were lucky enough to lay eyes on me.”  Still staring into the eyes of the old woman, she bent down, grabbed the plumpest green olive in the pile, and plopped it into her mouth.
        As if blinded by beauty, the old woman looked away, unable to hold her eyes directly on Pitoria’s.  “Of course she would,” she replied, head bowing and eyes blinking.
        With a flick of her wrist and a dismissive “humph,” Pitoria turned away and continued down the row of vendors.   Behind her she heard a slight cackle.  A swift breeze kicked up.  Her tunic rippled. Her hair flew into her face.  People around her gasped and froze in amazement, but they were no longer looking at her.  They all held their gaze toward the stall where she just left.
        Puzzled, Pitoria turned around.  Her mouth dropped.  She fell to her knees.  The old woman was no longer there.  In her place was the most beautiful being, hair flowing, light emanating.  At once, Pitoria knew she was in the presence of the Goddess of Beauty.
        “Pitoria, you have acted out long enough.  You may have outer beauty, yes, but you are lacking something even more important.  Inner beauty, ” Aphrodite stated, pointing at Pitoria.  Bending down to pick up an olive, she added, “This time, try eating with a little more grace.”
        Pitoria bowed her head and approached the goddess.  She reached out her hand, took the olive and gently placed it in her mouth.  “Thank you,” she muttered.
       As she bit down on the olive, she crunched down on something hard.  Her tooth cracked. Pain shot through her face. Pitoria cringed, leaving a hideous grimace for all to see.
        “In your honor,” Aphrodite claimed, “I have placed a small stone inside every olive.  It is to remind everyone how important inner beauty is.  I shall name this stone after you, dear Pitoria.”
        “Thank you,” Pitoria replied, bowing her head once again.  The pain in her mouth was excruciating, and she could think of nothing else, not even her own beauty.  It didn’t matter though.  From that moment on, the pain would linger in her mouth forever, causing her to grimace for eternity.  And humans would have to get used to small stones found at the heart of each olive that they still call "pits" to this very day.     

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