She sighed, “Yes Drew, it’s pink. Do you have some kind of perverse aversion to color?”
“Perverse?” I asked, avoiding the question.
“Willfully determined or disposed to go counter to what is expected or desired; contrary,” she recited automatically, “It’s my misunderstood word of the week.”
I stared at her for a second, “Misunderstood word of the week…” I said slowly, wondering vaguely if she was from Mars.
“Stop avoiding the question,” she said critically.
I sighed, looking away. Why can’t she just give up?
After a silence, she slowly took in a breath, “So you didn’t have any of my cookies.” I shrugged, looking away at one of the disgustingly pink walls.
“That isn’t very nice,” she continued.I shrugged again. “Especially when your hostess spent a lot of time making them,” she hinted.
I wondered if my shrugging was annoying her. I hoped so. I shrugged again.
“Plus,” she continued, “They’re all moist and warm and gooey inside and they’re going cold… such a shame.”
Dammit. She had me at moist.