You are! [she insists, once again smacking his hand away from the threads-- is he determined to undo everything? Her voice picks up in its brusqueness, growing more aggressive as her anger builds.]
You're suggesting I don't know what I'm doing, that I'm a fool for trying, that I'd let you look like a dog in a hat! And you're acting like a spoilt little boy in the meantime, fidgeting and whining because you can't wear your armor! Poor you.

[Picking up her sewing box, she nudges her head at the tent opening, curtly indicating for him to follow.]

You haven't even seen it on yourself yet. Now come look, you petulant whinging child, or I'll bloody make you. [Among other useful things, she keeps a sewing mannequin and mirror in her tent for such occasions.]