Gotham Queen by Anya Uribe
“Let me guess,” Selina interrupted Barbara, “they’re totally lacking in complexity?”
Both women laughed, and both men looked confused.
“In his log, he calls them The Double-Ds,” Barbara grinned.
More laughter.
Unable to continue pretending he wasn’t listening, Dick turned to the women with a look of theatrical bewilderment.
“Excuse me,” he broke in with a dramatic huff, “‘totally lacking complexity?’”
“Inside joke,” Selina explained patronizingly, “It means they’ve got big tits. Complex women of character and substance don’t have tits.”
“Huh?”
“Look,” Selina said, cupping her ample bosom, “Complex…” she pressed inward. “…Shallow” she released, then repeated the demonstration. “Complex… Shallow… See how that works?”
“No, but maybe if you showed me again a couple more times.”
“Dick!” Barbara yelled with playful outrage, forgetting she was mad at him. Then after another minute’s teasing, she gave a more thorough explanation. “At my shower, we found a chatroom where these…” she paused, looking for a description, “reality-challenged gentlemen put forth some—questionable—theories about women in spandex.”
“Breasts are bad,” Selina said crisply, cutting through the euphemisms, “Cup size is inversely proportional to character.”
“I’m confused,” Dick said.
“That’s probably because you have a real, bona fide woman to go home to at night, Kiddo.”
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