“Aren’t these wonderful? Wow!” Her daughter bends over to examine the paintings in awe.
She says nothing. The truth is, she’s miserable. What am I doing here? She keeps asking herself. Why is my daughter so interested in this stuff. She’s not an artist. She can’t draw to save her life.
She’s trying to spend time with you, you idiot. Another voice speaks in her mind. Smile, don’t be a sour-puss.
Reluctantly, she forces the corner of her lips to curl upward as she follows her daughter to the man at the table. She’s so fascinated by this stuff, why?