Looking at a glass, darkly

My six year old daughter is staring down her glass of cranberry juice when I walk into the kitchen.  Ever since she had pyelonephritis as a toddler, I crack open a bottle of the good stuff at the first sign of a UTI.

The cold juice I poured a while ago is now tepid and still she sits before it.  She’s talking to herself, but it’s loud enough that I overhear.  “You would think I would like it,” she says, regarding the glass. “After all, it’s pink!”

Then, after a moment’s reflection, “But it’s dark pink.”

She warms to the topic now. “Evil pink.  TOXIC pink.”

Her voice lowers to a whisper, for effect. “Treacherous pink.”

Then she sighs heavily, shrugs, and bottoms up.

Drama is in this lady’s past, present and future.

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