Oh, not you too. Isn't it enough that I — hey, what do you mean you wouldn't trust me with an iron?

[As distractions go, it's a good one; whatever justifications and rationalizations might've been turning revolutions in her mind and just waiting to be offered up in defense, they all quickly go by the wayside in favor of her just sputtering.]

Who says I'm even wearing it, anyway? Maybe I just have it here to look at. Or — or under protest, or something.