Passive Aggressive Much Mother?

I bought an adorable dress for #2 a few weeks ago.

Sooo cute! I thought it would make a lovely Easter dress and #2 agreed.

You never know what the weather is going to be like on Easter around here so I bought this to go with it.She will be so stinkin' cute I won't be able to stand it.

#2 is very excited about her new dress, and wanted to show it to her beloved Grammy when she was here for her weekly make breakfast for the girls and take them to school day. I had it hanging up in the downstairs bathroom for "ironing." (Read: letting many steamy showers do their de-wrinkling magic.)

My mother appropriately compliments the dress and then asks if I would like her to take it home and iron it.

"Uhhhh....no. I think I can take care of that, but thanks for the offer." Says I.

"Oh, well I didn't think you had an iron." replies Mother Dear.

"What the hell?" I think in my head.

I then actually reply, "Of course I have an iron!"

"Oh well I didn't know, I guess I thought you didn't like to iron." says Ma.

Well she is right about that. I do avoid the iron when I can. My steamy shower works pretty well most of the time. Back to our scintillating conversation....

"I was planning on ironing the dress." (I totally wasn't) "I was just using the steam to get out most of the wrinkles to make it easier." I reply.

"Oh well if you change your mind I don't mind doing it." Says the woman who used to iron my t-shirts when I was a kid no matter how much I begged her not to.

Ohhhh Lord. I am 37 years old. It amazes and shames me that she can reduce me to a track covering irritated adolescent with one sentence.

I have to leave now. Tomorrow is Easter and I swear to the resurrected Jesus that I am going to iron the shit out of that dress. There won't be one damn wrinkle. I am then going to invite my mother over to prove to her that I have mad ironing skills.