A Matter of Taste
Published in
6 min readNov 26, 2021
There’s no accounting for it.
Wearing a mustard yellow bathrobe, Angelica sat at a bubblegum pink vanity, looked at her scrumptious reflection in the mirror, and — while brushing her long, straight, licorice black hair — chanted hungrily.
“Bay-guls, cup-cakes, Day-nish pay-stree.”
She looked down at the hair that fell over her shoulders, then brushed and chanted again.
