You'd never be caught in this dingy ass auto shop if your boyfriend hadn't lied to you. You wouldn't have ran away from the bowels of Manhattan to the New Jersey City slums to talk to your roommate's sister if your boyfriend didn't play you for a fool.

You were chock full of bad decisions, but all young socialites are. You know that better than anyone.

So, here you were, sitting on your Louis Vuitton cardigan covering Cosmo's grimy work bench as she worked on your best friend's husband's tiny sports car. You were ranting, raving, fuming, because everyone in your life was covering for your piece of shit boyfriend. It made no sense, because he's a man. You're you. And it's driving you crazy that you went to Cosmo, in the first place, because Cosmo might be the sanest person on the East Coast.

"Like, what the fuck?" you sputtered in disbelief.

Cosmo wiped her hands on her dirty wet rag, before tossing it over her shoulder.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth, sweetling?" she inquired, a faint grin on her face.