Well, birthday girl here is - relatively speaking - fairly thin, and might not have the appetite to wolf down the entirety of this food mountain. If you were to squirm your li'l self under the mass, you could hide out there until she's satiated, and the plate is taken away. It'll be safer than moving in full view of these giants.
You pry up the lowest of the noodles, aided by its light weight and the fact that there's already a substantial gap. Almost enough for your quarter-inch tall body to squeeze, but you need to lift it slightly. The world shudders as another clump is lifted from above, the hungry goddess stripping away ever more and more.
Spurred on by this dwindling of your cover, you thrust yourself desperately beneath the heavy weight of the steaming noodles. Sauce smears all over you, but you grit your teeth and bear it as you luxuriate in the warmth.
Every morsel plucked from your burial mound shudders through your very being, while also lessening your burden. The chatter and chewing of the monsters around you is all you can hear, while the smell and taste of the cooling meal makes your own mouth water.
More and more is taken and eaten, and soon you can feel only a few scraps of noodle bearing down on you. Surely this prissy princess isn't going to finish the whole plate?
"Oh, I think I'm done," she roars, and you breathe a sigh of relief. "Need to leave room for cake."
Thank God, you mutter. Soon this will be over.
"Really? You couldn't finish that last bite?" one of her friends laughs. "Always quitting before the end, huh?"
"Shut up," she snarls, and you gulp.
You can just about manage to crawl, and outside you see the great pad of the girl's thumb descend on the rim of the plate, a precursor to the goddess lifting the entire surface with a simple motion. You can barely fight against the increased pressure, and let out a yelp as her other hand stabs the fork down to claim the last bite of her meal. A bite that contains you.
The tines scrape along the ceramic, announcing their arrival with a shriek before striking you. You are not impaled, but instead bashed and lifted from the ground along with all the noodles piled atop you. With the plate raised, it's only a short journey to the gaping, saliva-filled mouth of the rich bitch, but one that seems to last forever.
You can free your arms, but you are dangling over an increasingly distant drop, and have done too good a job of burying yourself to slip out on a whim. Instead, you are tipped along with the rest of the waste onto the grimy tongue of the girl. Taste buds slap at your skin for a moment before the jaw closes, plunging you into humid darkness as the tongue throws you about. There is motion and noise at every instant, and splatters of destroyed food lash you as much as her spit.
There are teeth bigger than you in here, so now that you've been freed, you force your way through the hurricane-force mastication toward the exit, hoping to spring out the moment the mouth opens.
No, she isn't going to let you get away that easily. The tongue's tip slaps at you, prying you loose from the gums where you had been cowering, its irresistable muscle-power slamming you against the enamel walls once or twice, until your resistance ends, and you are floppily rolled onto the base of one of the chewers.
Upper and lower rows slam together, mashing and crushing your body, grinding your remains amongst what other goo she's chewing over.
With a final gulp, the birthday girl sends you to the abyss, shoving her triumph in the face of her critic and licking her lips in anticipation of the cake to follow. Soon your remains will be buried even more beneath cream-covered sponge and fondant icing, and your dreams of tiny survival will be forever unrealised.
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