Her hands are white. The sound of fingers rubbing flour makes all the hair on your skin rise, in a wave. This is the worst feeling you’ve ever had, in your uneventful life of five years. “Come help me, so that you can learn how to make a pita to your kids one day”, she says every time. “Your mother never wanted to learn, that’s why she buys all these horrible things from the bakery”, follows after. Sometimes not, if mama and her didn’t have an argument that week.