"I can handle her. Whatever she throws at me about me--I don't care, because she doesn't know me, so her opinion means very little since it's not based in fact." Ginny heaved a heavy sigh and wished she had something else to throw. "It's the way she and your father are towards Marcus. They didn't come to the match on Saturday because he was playing for a spot in the world cup finals. No. They came to the match because a business partner had tickets, and they felt they had to make an appearance for business. Then they acted as if his performance in the match was mediocre, at best, and as if they were bored by the whole thing."
"And then brunch. The first thing she sniffed at was the fact that I don't have house elves. Yes, I can afford them. No, I don't want them. Then she made snide comments about how I've chosen to decorate my space. Which, fine, whatever. I know my furniture doesn't match and that it's a little ugly, but I love it. That's all whatever. It was how she felt she had to remind Marcus about his manners." Ginny imitated Mrs Flint's Irish lilt. "'Marcus, you must pull out your lady's chair. Marcus, you can't sit next to her. Marcus blah blah blah.' And then your father! 'Haha,'" Ginny switched to a lower voice, "'Are you going to let your witch say that? Oh, she has her own career. That makes her your competition. Does your witch often beat you?' As if I wasn't there. How is it possible for someone to take an actual descriptor for what I am--a witch--and make it sound so insulting?! It was like he actually meant bitch, but in the female dog sense of the word."
She punctuated the last bit with a growl but promptly fell silent once her word vomit was complete. "I know I'm probably preaching to the choir. I appreciate you letting me rant. Especially when we need to figure out food and fire and surviving and getting home."