A furrowed look is etched on your face as you hide it behind an open palm, frustrated in a mix of embarrassment and confusion. "Mom...what did you do this time?"
Your mother, Melanie, was always a bit of a ditz and very into the same media you are into. From simple video games to anime, it's comforting to have someone so close to you that enjoys the same sort of hobbies you do—that is, until she got interested into joining you on your expo trips. She walked wide-eyed around the aisles at all the cool models in character costumes, but you thought it was harmless. Today, though, is another matter.
"Did you...did you seriously buy that?" you question, eyeing her garment up and down her figure. Mom cocks her head in confusion, and asks "what's wrong? It fits me, doesn't it?" with a pirouette to show off every angle of it.
She's right, it did fit her. The skin-tight material hugs her curves perfectly, accentuating her form and bringing up the best of her. Her usually short black hair is covered with a blonde wig, and she's even took the time to put a beauty mark just below the tip of her lips. In short, she managed to pull off what she set out to do: cosplay as Samus Aran.
She's almost the spitting image of her, with all the air of a commanding femme fatale but with a thick concentration motherly instinct diffused along with it. Her face turns into one of concern seeing your unease, and ever so softly, she says, "you don't like it, don't you?"
You struggle to look at her in her crystal blue eyes—contacts, apparently—only managing to sheepishly say, "No, that's not it," while staring at nothing in particular. She walks over closer to you, her fluorescent heels clicking and clacking (where did she even buy those?), and rests a soft hand onto your shoulder. "I thought I could impress you by dressing up as one of your favorite characters, ${Your name?}...I must've done something wrong again..." She sounds so defeated, so sombre.