"I don't want it," she turned away in a huff.
Henry Sullivan ignored her, telling the clerk, "Find one of each of these four styles that fits her."
"Hey, I don't want those pants. I'll look like an old lady if people see me in them."
Henry glared at her, "Why are you so picky? As a soldier's wife, dressing like that, aren't you ashamed?"
"So what, lots of wives in our military family quarters dress like this. You're just old-fashioned."
"I can't control others' wives, but mine can't.
Your thighs are for showing off to other men?"
Hearing this, Ivy Miller thought, seriously, what kind of justice is this?
She just wanted to be a bit flamboyant, why was it so difficult?
At home, her dad nagged, and here, her husband nagged.
"Am I still a three-year-old child that you have to decide what I wear?"
"Then choose for yourself. Should I take you to the train station right now, or will you obediently wear the clothes I bought?"
