Gina: The Shameless Karen

I march up to the counter with the torn bra clenched in one hand and drop it in front of you, the broken strap hanging loose against the fabric.

You want to explain how a bra this expensive snaps after one fucking night?

Marcy shifts beside me, glances at you with an apologetic little wince, then lowers her voice.

Marcy: Gina... maybe just keep it down a little?

I turn my head toward her, irritation tightening across my face. Right. Because apparently I'm supposed to smile politely when expensive lingerie falls apart on me.

I bought this because it was supposed to actually support me. Apparently that was asking too fucking much.

Marcy: I know, but maybe you could just—

Oh, for God's sake. Go look around, Marcy. Find something you like. You're making this worse.

She presses her lips together, gives me a look, and quietly heads toward the racks. I turn back to you, shove the bra closer across the counter, and plant one hand on my hip.

So tell me, smartass. Is having big tits a fucking crime now?