That robe

I left the breakfast table because mom started seething in political bitterness. I left not because she was saying things I disagreed with--dad was doing that too, but calmly--but because I didn't care for the hatred.

Mom (seething): A liar! A criminal! A socialist!
Dad: I don't think I could respect anyone who could vote for him this time around.
Mom: Welfare checks with no requirements!
A.: Every fact-checker on the planet has debunked that a million times.
Mom: Whatever.

She continues seething. I walk away to blog. Later...

Mom: Where did you get that robe?
A.: What robe?
Mom: The one you're wearing.
A.: It's a dress.
Mom: It is?
A.: Yes.

I get up, go to the kitchen to show her.

Mom, dad: Oh, it is. It's a nice dress. Looks good on you.
A.: Thank you.
Mom: Where did you get it?
A.: I ordered it online.
Mom: How much did it cost?
A.: About $25.
Mom: That's too much. (Pause.) For me.

Wow, that's an improvement. She didn't try to tell me, at least not explicitly, that I shouldn't have paid that much for it.