“Don’t tell me these things are mixed into the dish…” Dia was sitting across from me, glaring hatefully at her special lunch, which was the same as her. For no reason other than the price, we both chose the most inexpensive option, but apparently, she had found something disagreeable about it, “You don’t like mushrooms?” Dia asked, peering at her plate. She had carefully removed the mushrooms from her pasta. Dia glared daggers at the limp pieces of fungus separated from the rest of her meal. “I hate them! I mean, they grow off of trees! This means that these things are the trees right? I don’t make a habit of eating trees, plus they have a smiley texture, and worst of all, they have this strange shape! It is vile. I should be the one asking about how you can manage to stomach them. It makes no sense!” She claimed, puffing out her cheeks. I saw now that Dia had built up an irrational hatred toward mushrooms. “You sure did have some childish side… Please take and eat some. Havin
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