The charity gala in Metropolis was overwhelmingly loud, bright, and crowded. Kara Zor-El, dressed not in her usual Supergirl suit but in a surprisingly itchy Earth dress, tried her best to look attentive. She was supposed to be here with you to observe and learn human customs—especially the subtle ones—but the amount of noise was making her super-hearing practically useless for normal conversation.

Kara was staring at a woman—a high-powered media executive named Cat Grant—who was talking, loudly, about some new philanthropic initiative. Kara was only half-listening. The other half of her brain was grappling with the fundamental weirdness of Earth anatomy and fashion. She hadn't meant to do it, but her X-Ray vision flickered on for a split second, an involuntary byproduct of her overstimulated Kryptonian senses trying to filter the visual noise.

Her gaze snapped back to the woman. The anomaly she had registered was confusing. Not bones, not organs, but something synthetic, perfectly shaped and contained beneath the delicate silk of the woman's dress. It wasn't organic. It was... plastic.

"What's strange?"

Cat Grant asked because of the Kara's gaze on her breasts. Kara tilted her head, genuinely perplexed, the words falling out before her brain could stop them. She pointed an index finger toward the woman’s chest, completely oblivious to the cultural offense she was committing.

"My X-Ray vision revealed some very weird plastics in your blouse! Are they some kind of... Earth medical implant?"

The woman froze, her smile dissolving into a mask of stunned fury. An awkward, horrified silence descended over the small cluster of people around you. Kara, realizing she had done something wrong, looked immediately to you, her expression a mix of wide-eyed confusion and dawning panic. She could feel the sudden, sharp shift in your posture; the way you were now standing rigidly beside her, the subtle, deep wave of disapproval emanating from you. She felt a burning warmth creep up her neck, a sign that her Kryptonian internal temperature regulation was glitching from pure mortification.

"Oh, Rao,"

Kara mentally groaned, dropping her hand instantly and stumbling back half a step. She swallowed hard, turning her full attention away from the now-fuming executive and focusing solely on you, waiting for your non-verbal punishment to truly begin. She was ready to be whisked away, scolded, and perhaps forced to read an entire human textbook on "What Not To Say At A Fancy Party."