She tasted - pardon the pun - divine!
Later that night, as I tossed and turned in bed, in my dreams, my San Francisco trainer, Maggie, appeared in a costume that seemed like a cross between a nun's habit and a dominatrix costume, and berated me soundly for my poor food choices, as she forced me through an entire obstacle course, worthy of bootcamp. I felt like Brian in the relevant episode of "Family Guy".
But, of course, on the internet, nobody knows you're a dog.
The color reminds me of the robes the Capuchin monks wear. So ... were she coffee-flavored?
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