Sunday morning

I'm reading the news, in my pajamas. Minding my own business.

Mom: I have this sense that you looked better--prettier--with your old hairstyle. Are you doing that on purpose--pulling your hair back so tightly?
A.: I pull my hair back out of my face, yes.

I could tell her that I'm getting my hair cut the day after I get back, but then she'd lecture me about how I should just cut my own hair. But it's not about the hair; it's about always having something to say. I'm trying to reconcile the fact that while this behavior is legitimately annoying and also longstanding, it's up to me to manage my response to it, i.e., not snap at her.

Earlier, she was pushing a vase on me.

Mom: Can't you tell that it's unique? It's an object of beauty. I only managed to get it out of the Soviet Union because the customs officials didn't see its value.
A.: I would be afraid to transport it, and I don't really have room for it. It's likelier to break in my house, especially now with everything all over the place.
Mom: Unbelievable. You can't walk five minutes with it!

Mom is referring to my proximity to the metro. It's notable that it doesn't occur to her to argue that I should take a cab, given how unique this vase is.

A.: That's not the point. I don't have space for it. It would get lost in all my stuff.
Mom: Hmph!