It happens somewhere ordinary. The post office, the bakery, the parking lot. And at first, you think you can stop it. But then it hits. Full force. The arched back. The flailing arms. The noise that feels like it could shatter glass. And it’s not the strangers that get to you. It’s your mom, standing a few feet away. The way her eyes widen. The tight purse of her lips. The secondhand embarrassment radiating off her like heat. You feel her watching you, silently narrating every move. “I never would have let you act like that.” “A good look would’ve…