Wine Of A Different Color
Never judge a wine by its cover ... err ... color. Oh, never mind.
Vinum lifted her head from her hands, turning her tear-streaked face towards her mother.
"I'll never be who you want me to be!" she shouted.
Her soul ached with a deep pain caused only by the rejection of a parent.
"I should have thrown you out the moment you were uncorked," her mother spat. "Why can't you look like other Cabernets with their rich hues of reds and purples?"
"I don't know, momma."
"Do you know what it's like for me? The mother of a vibrant, salmon pink rosé?"
"It's a disgrace!"
"Why can't you just love me for who I am?" she pleaded. "For my beautiful floral and musk notes with lemon and citrus? For my fresh strawberry-rhubarb flavors with sweet tealeaf and candied orange peel?"
"How could I love someone who pairs so perfectly with goat cheese tarts? You know I'm lactose intolerant!" she said with a huff, then turned on her heel and walked out.
"I'm going to leave this place," Vinum said to herself. "Leave this place and go somewhere where people are accepting of bursts of sour cherry and nasturtiums. A place where snappy acidity is welcomed with open arms."
And so she did. And she was happy.
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