Cold and Pink

The Detective steps into her apartment, his senses heightened. His eyes catch a pair of black gloves, neatly rolled black handwraps, and a black mouthguard, all inside a large black sports bag by the entrance. The sight sends a shiver down his spine, hinting at a suspect who is intimidating, perhaps even dangerous. A woman who might engage in bar fights, not out of necessity, but for the thrill.

He makes his way into the kitchen. It’s light, rather minimalistic, and a bit too empty for his taste. As he opens the fridge, he finds some broccoli, salmon, and tuna. He opens the Cupboards and finds nothing but vegan protein, some rice, and pasta.

This woman must be skinny as hell, he thinks for himself.

He is saying a silent prayer, thankful for his wife, who is always stocking up the kitchen inventory. What a nightmare it must be to be with a woman so unprepared for the most basic human urges, such as eating.

The apartment feels cold and impersonal. As he walks into the living room, he finds a glass table with three chairs, some dumbbells, and a black couch without any blankets or decorative cushions. There are no photographs and no cosy furniture.

The room is well-lit, and the wooden, light-beige floor removes some of the frosty feeling he felt when entering the hallway and kitchen before. He wonders if the suspect might be one of those women who denies herself everything.

He walks further into yet another hallway and sees three more rooms: the bathroom, the office, and the bedroom. He gazes into the office and is surprised by the abundance of books in this room. To his surprise, there were many pink books: "The History of Fashion," "Audrey Hepburn," and "How to be a Diva." He shrugs his shoulders. He has been a detective for twenty years and is still amazed by the personality clues he finds in other people's homes.

Finally, the bedroom. He isn’t surprised by its sterile nature anymore; it has one bed, a giant wardrobe, and a night table. He is curious about the clothes, and upon opening the wardrobe, his jaw drops. This isn’t the cold-blooded, bar fight gal he assumed. This is a lady! Pink petticoats, red and black A-Line dresses, White Jumpsuits, and giant black hats, Audrey Hepburn style.

WHO is this lady?