An Artist Eats

“I don’t like this turkey,” Klara said, eyeing with disgust the beautiful bird I cooked. “I like the turkey I got at school.”

“And how was it different?”

“It was pink and square. It was very, very square, Mommy! I ate all of it!”

It’s all about the color and the shape with this child.

2 thoughts on “An Artist Eats”

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