"No thanks, I think I'll go with this one."
It rushes out like a held breath. She freezes, hands gripping a flouncy concoction of pastel ruffles, tag practically screaming luxury. I hold up the simple navy jumpsuit between
us, as if that is enough to shield me.
Eyes of liquid fury, she manages to keep the smile plastered across her face. I can barely meet them, but I must. Her mouth twitches.
"'No thank you', Laura", my mother slams the hanger back on the rack, "If you're going to be an ungrateful brat, you're at least going to speak properly."