~A Mother's Taste~

"Oh Pansy, this robe looks absolutely ravishing! Very appropriate, isn't that right, Lindon?" Mother asks her husband, who's just staring off into space.

"Hmm? Oh yes dear, quite right. Not as divine as you, however," my dad says. What a suck up. Too bad I'm not.

"Mother, this is quite possibly the most hideous dress robe I have ever seen." Blunt, honest, to-the-point; that's my style. Too bad my "style" lands me in quite a bit of trouble.

"Pansy Priscilla Parkinson! How dare you-"

"Quiet down, quiet down! Don't use that wretched middle name in public!" I hiss, checking to see if anyone heard.

"Then don't use that wretched mouth to criticize me in public!" I cross my arms over my chest defiantly. "Lindon! A little help?"

"What? Oh yes, that robe is quite exquisite, Pansy, better than the last." Mother and I roll our eyes simultaneously.

"It's the same robe, Father."

"And this isn't about the robe, it's about your daughter criticizing my taste in fashion in the middle of a store!"

"Well... would you prefer to move to the back of the store, then?" I hide a smirk. Mother may not detect that slight sarcastic note in his voice, but I certainly did. He rarely uses it anymore.

"What? No! Lindon, be serious!"

"Of course, Lucinda. Pansy looks... well, the style doesn't particularly... how to say-look good... On her body! I mean to say, her body simply isn't up to par with the requirements of the robe. You, however, would look absolutely beautiful in it." And whatever smile I had quickly vanishes. Dad just threw me to the wolves to save his arse. I bare my teeth. That sorry excuse of a man- he's so strong and arrogant and steadfast with every other person on Earth, but when it comes to his wife, he bends to her every will. How pathetic. But it works; Mother's placated.

"You are most certainly correct, dear. Now I know why I brought you along. Quickly, Pansy, try on this robe." I take the proffered robe and without a word, go back into the fitting room.

"That obnoxious, implacable, manipulative little..." I grumble as I take off the first robe. Mother didn't even "bring" Dad along, he chose to come because he wanted to make sure I wore something decent for tomorrow's dinner with the Nott family. Two years of sucking up to different suitors and my parents still haven't landed me a husband. Dad blames it on the clothes, Mother rants it's got to do with something along the lines of "excessive ego" and "attitude". So here I am, stuck trying on these absolutely repulsive robes. The first one made me resemble a nun, or that's what I think those penguin-looking women who live in those churches are called. Maybe this one will be better and- nope. Definitely. Not. Better. Wow, if this isn't ugly, I don't know what is. Brown, itchy, cloth hangs on my body, strangely resembling one of my house elf's outfits. Basically, I was wearing a pillowcase made of hay.

"Well?" My mother asks impatiently from outside the door.

"Give me a minute, it's going to take a while to soak up this atrocity."

"If you don't start filtering your tongue, you'll find yourself mopping the floor with it! Now, come out so I can see this 'atrocity'." Extremely reluctant, I step outside. Father's eyes pop out of his head, then he's laughing hysterically. Mother cuts him a sharp look, and he tries to stifle his laughter. "I don't see what's wrong with it," she says defensively.

"Mother, have you not seen-"

"Oh I've seen the robe! And it looks perfectly fine, the only atrocious thing about it is that it's on your body." I clench my fist behind my back, not wanting to escalate the argument. I can take it, Parkinsons are known for their bite.

"Of course, dear. That's probably it." Dad tries to wink at me, but I avoid his eyes- they aren't worthy of my contact at the moment. Pathetic old man. I take the next robe the woman offers and stomp to my fitting room. How can that cow possibly tell me to wear these sagging robes when all of hers are form-fitting and revealing? And she can't even pretend that my body's the reason the robes I try on look ugly- if there's one thing we are both very aware of, it's that my figure can make anything look good (unless the robes are actually potato sacks in disguise). I am my mother's trophy child. Ever since I was a baby, she always dressed me up in extremely flamboyant outfits and showed me off at her notorious tea parties. Every wealthy, Pureblood mother in the wizarding community fawned over me like a new puppy. I was "oh so precious" and "the spitting image of her mother". At first, Mother tried the whole loving parent gig- I'm sure just to get the full "mommy" experience of caring for her darling baby- but when the excitement wore off after about four years, I became her little show-and-tell daughter. Four is also when I formed somewhat of an "attitude problem", as Mother likes to call it. My aunt from my dad's side was killed-well, murdered- and she was my favorite family member. Actually, it used to be Dad, but Aunt Adela was murdered by some of the Dark Lord's zealots for turning to the Light. My family's paid a lot of money to keep that little secret under the rug, but my mom still uses it to threaten my father. So, he pretty much became her b****. No more of "Pansy comes first" or "Must save Pansy from crazy, destructo mother". Nope, none of that in thirteen years, so Auntie Adela took Father's spot. She practically raised me anyhow, which made my mother question if any of her ideals rubbed off on me. Maybe they did maybe they didn't.

"Pansy what on Earth is taking so long?" The pounding on the door brings me back to focus. Oh, right. I was in the middle of trying on sacks.

"Nearly done, Mother." I reach for the frilly, pink robe with a sigh before a shimmering blue thing catches my eye. In the corner of the room, buried beneath discarded clothing, is the most gorgeous robe I've ever seen. I pick it up gingerly, afraid of tearing off even one blue sequence. The robe was incredibly short, probably only covering a third of my thigh. Low-cut, too, with long, tight sleeves that have slits in the shoulders. Overall, it is one small, curve-hugging, sparkling, blue robe of hotness. Smirking, I toss the pink disaster aside and shimmer into my robe. Oh hell yes, this was meant for me,I think as I stare in the mirror. Wouldn't Mother appreciate this choice? I think we should find the answer. Opening the door quickly, I step out into a frustrated Mother.

"Mummy dearest, how do I look?" Her eyes drop to my half-a-robe, all color drains from her face, and she nearly faints.

"Oh my-my-my-" her stuttering cuts off as what's probably a heart attack begins to arise. Dad finally snaps to attention and a toothy grin breaks out.

"Now THAT'S going to get my daughter married!"

Bare with me until the next chapter. :/