You've been cerved.

Inez, Tamra...and Claire

"Here, this is nice," Inez held up a large pink dress suit with a mauve jacket.

"Christ, who am I? Saint Anita?" Claire made a face.

"You know Anita doesn't like that nickname," Inez chastised.

"Anita could live in that dress," Tamra laughed.

Claire's eyes shot daggers at Tamra, who realized what she'd said.

"I'm not body shaming you Claire. Anita's very tiny," Tamra told her.

"Oh...that's true, I guess..." Claire was still suspicious.

"Anita's my size," Inez was indignant.

Claire snorted. "Anita's head is smaller than one of your boobs."

Inez sighed. "Anita is small and slight. I'm..."

All three women contemplated Inez.

"Jessica Rabbit," Tamra finished.

Claire nodded.

Inez put the pink dress suit back on the rack with an irritated chirp. "I'm aware of my proportions, thank you. It's actually quite hard to find things that fit, in case you were wondering."

"But when you do find something that fits, va-va-voom," Claire said, glumly reviewing her own more apple-like figure in a stained floor-length mirror.

"Beauty is subjective," Inez told them, pawing through more dresses.

"I wish," Tamra muttered as she inspected a wide-brimmed blue hat.

Inez turned and shook a finger at Tamra. "Tamra, don't start. You're lovely. It's just that since you've been on this diet, you've lost a lot of weight but not changed your wardrobe. You should buy a dress that fits your figure instead of wearing all these baggy corduroys all the time."

Tamra put the blue hat on. "Okay, Mom."

Claire dropped heavily to the floor with her massive purse. "I don't wanna buy nice clothes. I don't wanna go to church. I want wine, lots and lots of wine."

Tamra flicked the blue hat higher up on her head. "Funny, I could use a little less whining myself."

Inez went over to Claire and grabbed her under the arms. "C'mon, get up, Claire. We've got to support Anita. She really wants kids and she's doing all she can. All we've got to do is be there for her."

Claire deliberately resisted Inez. "That's all I need - for Saint Anita to pop out a perfect little angel so my mom can point out all my failings as a parent."

Tamra and Inez exchanged glances.

"Er...Claire...your mom died. Yesterday," Inez said.

Claire blew a stray piece of dry brown hair out of her face. "I know."

"And before that, wasn't she sort of...incapable of criticism for a while?" Tamra asked, trying to remember what she'd heard. Claire's mom had been in hospice for a year or two, right?

Claire shrugged. "Mom found ways to let me know I'd screwed up even when she was basically a vegetable. Why would her ghost let me rest?"

Inez wrapped her arms around Claire's back and heaved. "I don't believe in ghosts. Get up, Claire."

Claire crossed her legs. "No."

"Claire!" Inez groaned.

"Lift with your back," Tamra advised, trying on another hat - a tiny green one this time.