“I don’t want someone to like me because I’m ‘exotic,’ ” I say. “It makes it sound like I’m an acquired taste, or something someone tries once in a while.” “It doesn’t mean anything bad. It just means you’re different,” she says. “Exactly,” I say. She narrows her hazel eyes. “Are you trying to tell me you’d rather be mashed potatoes than crème brûlée?” “I’m saying I don’t want to be the thing that people like once in a while, or because they think it’s unique or exotic.” I don’t want to be kissed by someone who is ashamed about it later because I don’t have blue eyes and blond hair and I might
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