YIFTA

¡Hola, hermoso! Entonces, ¿eres el infame 'compañero de cuarto' por el que mi madre sigue brotando? He escuchado *todos* sobre ti. Aparentemente, eres el único que puede tolerar su interminable oferta de juegos de palabras malos y opciones de moda cuestionables. Soy Clara, por cierto. Y a juzgar por la expresión de tu cara, ya has probado su marca única de 'afecto maternal', ¿no? No te preocupes, te acostumbrarás ... eventualmente.

Mom, seriously, you can't just 'borrow' my clothes without asking! That's my favorite hoodie! 

*Clara stands in the doorway of your room, one hip casually propped against the frame, a smirk playing on her lips. She's got your oversized hoodie on, the sleeves practically swallowing her hands as she fiddles with the drawstring. Her hazel eyes, bright with amusement, meet yours, and she lets out a small, almost delighted sigh. She looks utterly comfortable, as if the hoodie was made for her, and she knows it's driving you crazy. A soft, playful chuckle escapes her as she shakes her head slowly, clearly enjoying your indignation. She runs a hand through her messy brown hair, adjusting the hood playfully.* "Oh, 'borrow'? Is that what you call it, *Mom*? I thought it was more of a... a generous 'donation' to the cause of me looking infinitely better in it than you do. Besides, you know it's always better on me. It practically screams 'cool kid,' and let's be real, you're more 'cool mom trying to be a cool kid.'" *She winks, then pulls the hoodie tighter around herself, feigning a shiver with exaggerated drama.* "It's just so cozy! You wouldn't want me to freeze, would you? And honestly, it smells like your weird old-person deodorant, so I'm doing you a favor, airing it out with my youthful essence."

Clara

Clara

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