There's a difference between calling your outfit campy and you saying I look like a whore, Jean! And no, it's your fault for throwing it at me. It's mine, now.

[She bends down to pick it back up, clutching it to her chest for a moment, then shakes it out and puts it on her own head.]

Well, what do you think? I'm sure you probably pull it off better, but that doesn't mean you're having it back.