At Bree's urging, Orson orders Alma off Wisteria Lane. But Alma isn't budging: She wants him back! And here's her idiotic plan to win him over: Gloria told her about what he "did to Monique," and also that he ran over Mike, and she's going to tell Bree everything unless Orson lets her stay and wait for him to love her. (I know, dumbest plan ever.) Later, Bree herself tells Alma to heed Orson's request to get off the Lane, and Alma pretends that Orson never asked her to leave, thereby planting a seed of doubt in Bree's already-suspicious mind. Alma conveniently wanders off to go help the movers place a small side table. Alone in Alma's kitchen, Bree overhears Baby the parrot, which for some miraculous reason has found its way home to Alma, deliver the line that Alma's trained him to say: "Don't tell Bree!" (As in, the bird overheard some plotting between Orson and Alma.) Bree is upset. Bree drops her glass of lemonade. Bree searches for a dustpan and discovers a trick floorboard, which conceals a photo of Orson and Monique and a bag full of bloody teeth. Final shot: Bree, confused and alone, clutching her collection of teeth. Mike gets attacked by two prison thugs and CreePaul comes running to the rescue. Mike is eternally grateful until a guard tips him to the fact that CreePaul actually paid the thugs to attack him. Final shot: Mike, confused and alone, clutching a sharpened toothbrush. Julie tries to tell Susan that she wants to go on the pill, but Susan gets so freaked out that Julie asks Edie to pose as her mother so she can get the prescription. Susan finds the pills, calls the doctor, discovers what Edie did, and races over to Edie's house to do some of her patented screeching. As Susan is busy giving Edie an earful, she gets an eyeful of topless Austin and Little Miss Van de Tramp making out on Edie's couch. Later, Susan sadly, gently tells Julie about two-timing Austin. Julie cries and cries. Tom needs all the residents on the block to sign a petition before he can get a liquor license for the pizzeria, and Lynette sweet talks the last remaining holdout by flashing the guy her special toppings (by which I mean her breasts). Gabby's secret admirer turns out to be Zana; Zana, who is now the proud owner of a disturbingly luxurious head of hair. So much hair!
Previously: Tom had a dream -- a dream of opening a pizza parlor; Monique was found dead and toothless; plus there was all the dirty dirt from last week (Gabby has a stalker, Alma bought a house on the Lane, Mike ran into CreePaul in prison, and Julie messed with Texas).
This week's theme, as announced by Mary Alice, is all about protection. We start off with a montage of all the Housewives watching some (apparently non-significant, plot-wise) news story about rioting. MA tells us how much "average housewives" worry: they carry pepper spray, they prop baseball bats up by the door, they invest in spendy alarm systems. And suburban housewives aren't the only ones who worry. Why, prison inmates worry, too. We see Mike grinding the end of a toothbrush down to a sharp point so that he can, as MA tells us, "go about his day feeling safe and protected." But despite his orally hygienic precautions, Mike still runs into trouble: he's pumping iron out in the yard when two inmates wander over and start kicking his ass. Mike drops his totally lethal and intimidating barbell and goes for the little pointy toothbrush he's got stashed in his sock. The thugs, no surprise, are not thwarted by the sight of his toothbrush, even after he manages to scratch one of them with it. Mike looks poised for some serious damage when in swoops CreePaul, who whoops the two assailants without even breaking a sweat; prison, it seems, has transformed CreePaul into some kind of super ninja karate hero man. The ruffians turn tail, and Mike (who, as MA pointed out in the previouslies, doesn't even know who CreePaul is, because their whole relationship actually falls inside Mike's two-year memory blackout) turns his doe eyes onto CreePaul and gratefully declares that he is now in CreePaul's debt, to which CreePaul readily, hungrily agrees. MA: "Yes, we all need protection from those who would do us harm. And, sometimes, from those who protect us." Later, we see the two thugs standing around in some corridor. CreePaul appears and does a Big Man On Campus strut up the hallway, flicking them some cash as he passes by. That's right: he staged the whole thing. I wonder, do prisoners often get free rein of prison buildings like that? And also? Again I ask why it is that Mike, who still has yet to be convicted of a crime, is serving hard time in the big house alongside these orange-suited convicts? And the "You Can't Trust Anyone, Not Even the Writers On This Show" music swells.
Late, late one night. Gabby gets dropped off at home by a bunch of laughing, pleasantly rich-looking people I've never seen before. She lets herself into her dark, dark house, and there, in the dim shadows, she spies a suspect-looking figure. Gabby chucks her purse at the apparition and squeals, but then she realizes that it's only a creepy-looking mannequin wearing a hideous dress (purple, high-halter neckline with a Starfleet collar and three lame rhinestone buttons). Nonetheless, she's still terrified -- it's true, mannequins are almost creepier than live intruders, plus that dress is truly hideola -- so Gabby click-clacks across the street, wakes up Carlos, and commands him to come over to her place for a sleepover. Carlos gets a "sexytime" sparkle in his eyes. Cut to...
...Carlos sitting on Gabby's couch, sighing that he "hates [his] life." Gabby hands him a pillow and a blanket: no sexy-sexy for Carlos. Boy, for a rich house in a rich neighborhood, that is the shortest, saddest couch that ever was. So Carlos is there purely as a guard dog, because Gabby is "scared to death of this maniac." Apparently, the giver of pink roses has graduated from admirer to stalker; breaking into someone's house to plant a mannequin in a matronly dress can do that to a person. Carlos wonders why Gabby doesn't just call the fuzz, but Gabby doesn't think her story is all that sympathetic, seeing as the dress is apparently worth $6000. What? That said, I'm not sure why the price of the stalker's gift makes any difference; B&E is B&E. Then again, Fairview cops aren't exactly the most effective force in the land -- the crimes (murder, arson, assault) that go unsolved on Wisteria Lane alone are enough to make this town one of the most unsafe places to live in the galaxy. Carlos wonders what, exactly, Gabby wants him to do if her potential assailant reappears. Gabby: "When he breaks in and starts hacking you up with his machete, your screams will wake me up and I'll be able to escape." Aw.
Still late, late that night. Lynette sits on the kitchen table, chugging a glass of wine. Are we supposed to be worried about Lynette's drinking, maybe? Tom comes home, and Lynette remarks that his arrival is well timed, seeing as she just "put the kids to sleep." Wow, the Ps (plus K) have a mighty late bedtime if it meshes with Gabby's post-nightclub return. Lynette makes a lascivious comment about how Tom still has time to "tuck" her in, by which she clearly means tuck his penis into her vagina. They suck face for a few forevers, but then Tom applies the brakes: they need to keep clothed until his printer arrives with the proofs for his menu. Okay, we really need to give that pizza place a name. Cystic Pizza? Pizza Gut? Ass Hat Pizza? Scavomino's? Hmm. Anyway, it turns out the printer already came by with the menu. Tom immediately gets all tense: Lynette didn't peek at the menu, did she? Who, Nosy "The Nose" Lynette? Ah, but she did. And you know something? She loved it: "The font, the color, everything!" They recommence tonguing. But then Lynette interrupts to ask when, exactly, she'll get to see the actual restaurant. Tom: "How about two weeks?" Lynette: "You open in two weeks." That's the thing: Tom doesn't want Lynette to see the place before it opens because he's convinced that she's totally going to offer some shitty "tips and suggestions" that are just going to make Tom do his "sad, crushed dreams" face. Lynette: "You think? Because I just saw a takeout menu with a six-digit phone number and I kept that to myself." Tom, in his very best "wounded teenager" voice: "SEE! There it is! That snarky, know-it-all attitude." Lynette? "Snarky"? Because she "pointed out one glaring mistake?" Tom: "That's it. You're banned from the opening." Lynette stomps off to bed, and clueless Tom calls after her, "So...we're not having sex?" And then Lynette, in what is possibly the funniest line ever used on this show, says, "Hey, you banned me from your opening..." As in, he isn't getting anywhere near her opening tonight. Her lady part opening. You know what would make a really great tattoo? On you, not me? A big banner that reads "Grand Opening" right over your privates. There could be balloons, too. And streamers. Just a thought.
Speaking of grand openings: we picket-fence-pan over to the Mayer home, where Julie (she of the so recently opened opening) and Austin are chatting about the effectiveness of various birth-control methods. Now that they're engaging in sexual congress, sensible Julie wants to get herself directly onto the Pill. Unfortunately, it seems that, in the Eagle state, a girl of the tender age of "under eighteen" needs parental consent to get a prescription, and Austin isn't exactly thrilled about taking the question to Susan. Just then, the devil of whom they speak walks in, and those two crazy, sexually active kids do the very worst job ever of pretending they weren't talking about something juicy. So sly Susan pretends to head up the stairs, but then she creeps back down on her belly, army-obstacle-course-style, to try to get an earful of what they so obviously don't want her to hear. Susan manages to overhear Julie saying "condoms are only 80% effective," but then Susan's hands slip, and she bumps and grinds down the stairs. You see Susan's patented "whoops" face the whole way down, so it's definitely not a stunt double, and the thought of hardwood stairs + Teri Hatcher's .% body fat, which would provide zero padding = me cringing over the thought of her blackened hipbones. Seriously, I'm surprised that it didn't ignite a fire, rubbing two sticks of wood together like that. Julie goes racing over to see if her mother's okay. Susan leaps up and fabricates some fantastically dumb excuse about how she was just looking for an earring, which Julie immediately exposes as a lie by pointing out the two earrings Susan is clearly still wearing. Susan, absently feeling her ears: "Oh. I found it." Idiot. Then again, why is Julie, who's supposed to be the smart one, babbling about condoms before she's absolutely sure her mother's out of earshot? When I was a teenager, I wouldn't have talked about my sex life within twenty MILES of my mother, let alone in the same house. Susan asks Austin to leave, and then she unloads all over Julie, freaking out about that tiny bit of "condoms" that she overheard, screeching that sex isn't "fun and games, it's dangerous" -- why, it can give you terrible infections: "Do you want it to burn when you pee? SEX KILLS!" Julie, who seems to have picked up on the fact that her mother isn't really capable of rational thought when it comes to the topic of sex and her daughter (or, let's face it, any other topic), opts for a big, fat lie: she tells Susan that she and Austin are not, in fact, doing the Funky Cold Medina, and all that condom talk was about some other slutty couple at school, a couple too dim to know that condoms are "only 85% effective." Susan is proud of her statistic-wild, goody-goody daughter.
And over to Bree. Her hair is so insanely curled up at the ends that I can't help thinking it's another tactic in the "Hey! Eyes Up Here!" campaign to distract us from Marcia Cross's hugely pregnant belly. So she's getting groceries out of her trunk when she spies Alma and Edie coming out of the old Applewhite house across the street. A look of panic creeps across Bree's face, and she waddles over find out what's going on. Alma, with medicated glee, coos to her new best friend Bree that she's gone and bought the house. Where did she get the money for such a fat purchase? Bree is crestfallen. Though, in the interest of full disclosure, I should also point out that Bree's disappointment could just as easily have been triggered by Edie's ridiculous hair-extension stripper ponytail thing, which is very, very Karen Walker. My god, has Operation Eyes Off The Bump gotten so out of control that it's spread to the heads of other characters? Alma does some more gushing about how thrilled she is to be Bree's neighbor. Bree can't contain her chagrin, and lets out a shocked "No!," which causes Alma's smile to evaporate. Bree tries to cover by pretending that she's just concerned about Alma moving into a house where so much bad stuff has happened. Didn't Edie tell her? The owners were "harboring a murderer." Edie, in full-on real estate agent mode: "It was her son. Say what you like, [Betty] was a great mom." Bree dishes about the fully functional dungeon in the basement, and the haunted "groans" people supposedly hear coming from the house. Edie, whispering: "There's going to be groans coming from your house if you don't zip it." But Edie has nothing to worry about: Alma sunnily declares that's it's "too late." She's there to stay. Besides, Alma says, all that "haunted house stuff" is "silly: people don't come back from the dead." Bree to Edie: "Don't I wish." Take that, Alma! No wait, what? Bree wishes...what, that dead people would remain dead? By which I guess she means Alma? But Alma never actually died. I mean, everyone thought she was dead, but she was just in Winnipeg. Yeah, that line doesn't really work.
Casa Van de Meltdown. Bree is yelling at Orson and fiendishly kneading some dough, and her hair is all coming down and she looks totally nuts. Bree's current issues with Orson include: the fact that he hasn't spoken to Alma yet about how she positivolutely can not live on Wisteria Lane; the fact that Alma keeps showing up on their doorstep like Bree is "hosting some kind of Mormon slumber party"; the fact that Orson got hauled off to the police station yet again -- you know, all the usual marital misunderstandings. Orson, holding Bree's hands so that she can't continue to violently assault the dough: "Darling, I swear to you I will get Alma out of that house. I don't care if I have to live up to my reputation and strangle her." Bree is relieved.
Britt House of Infamy. Austin and Julie want Edie to help them to get birth-control pills, based on the fact that they are "in love." Edie tries to convince them that it's just their hormones doing the talking (or rather the sexing), and that there's really no need to "go all the way." She suggests the following alternatives: "Kiss, touch...rub." And then, to her credit, Edie recommends that Julie talk to Susan about all of this. Julie earnestly pleads that Susan can't be reasoned with, given how nuts she is on this particular topic. Edie suggests that she buy them a box of condoms (I'm not sure that's really a compromise on the "no sex versus sex" continuum, but okay), but Julie trots out her favorite "only 85% effective" stat. Edie, shocked: "Is that true? Damn! I thought I could coast all the way to menopause." And by "coast," I guess she's implying that condoms are a total breeze, which doesn't exactly jibe with my experience, wherein condoms are typically pretty labor-intensive and messy (compared to the Pill, that is), but I overshare. ["Maybe Edie just doesn't want to risk hormone-based contraceptive options that might make her gain weight?" -- Wing Chun] Oh, but also: a friend of mine had a pot-bellied pig that choked to death on a used condom it found in the trash. So, for the record: condoms are not only messy mood-interrupters, but they also kill miniature pigs. Edie agrees to help Austin and Julie, after pausing to disclaim, "Just so you know, the responsible thing is to abstain from sex. And focus on your studies. There! I said it out loud, just in case anybody asks."
Little Stalk of Horrors. Carlos has agreed to pull guard duty at Gabby's house yet again. He comes into her room to borrow a pillow and finds her wearing the hideous $6000 dress. Carlos nearly sprains his eyebrow with the look of judgment on his face. Gabby: "Hey, I'm scared. But not of the dress." Ah, but you should be, Gabs. That dress is truly revolting.
Later, Gabby's startled out of her sleep at the sound of a car door slamming outside. She tiptoes over to the window and spies a man walking up to the house. She scampers downstairs to wake up Carlos, and together, they catch the man -- a bespectacled sort -- just as he's leaving an oblong jewelry box on Gabby's front stoop. The guy makes a run for it, and Carlos tackles him on the front lawn, and then Gabby runs down and kicks the poor sap in the ribs. You know, this scene is oddly familiar...not only is there a lot of crime in this neighborhood, but there also seems to be an epidemic of people wrestling each other down to the ground here. Remember Edie and Susan, and Mike and Little Doctor Ron, and Caleb? I grew up in suburbia and I never, ever saw two people battling it out on the street. I had to move to the city to see that. So Gabby keeps kicking and kicking the guy, and finally Carlos tells her to "maintain," which sends me hurtling back to high school, crying tee hee hee all the way. The man squeals that his boss told him to break into Gabby's house because he didn't want to leave a $6000 dress out on the front porch. Oh yeah, then why was he running the risk of leaving jewelry out there, possibly to be stolen, just a few seconds ago? Gabby furrows her tan little brow: she is confused by this "boss" thing.
Cut to the Nebbish on Gabby's veranda, ice pack on his head, cell phone clamped to his ear; he's calling said Boss right now. Gabby opens her jewelry box and discovers what looks like a wildly expensive diamond bracelet. She grabs the phone from the Nebbish and starts sniping away at her secret stalker. All the guy has to do is mention how much the bracelet costs, though, and the bite immediately evaporates from Gabby's bark. Oh, Gabby. Could you be more irritating? Carlos, with the many years of dealing with Gabby's shallowness weighing heavily on his heart, tells her to tell the guy that she's going to call the police if he doesn't stop "harassing" her. Gabby half-heartedly starts to relay the threat, but then gets to giggling as the guy compliments her for being the "most beautiful woman in the world." Carlos, louder now: "Tell him you're going to get a restraining order on him." Gabby, flirtily to her mystery man: "Yes, I may be in the top ten..." Blah, snore, zzzz. So Gabby tells the guy he sounds familiar, and they make a lunch date. Carlos is disgusted, I'm disgusted, we're all a seething mass of disgust. Only it's worse than that: it's bored disgust. We get it: Gabby is materialistic, just like she was in Season 1. And Season 2. Why is it that the second any of these characters starts to develop actual, complicated, multifaceted traits (remember how just last week Gabby discovered that she's not at all ready to date yet?), the writers flatten them right back down to two dimensions again?
Orange Man Group. Again with the strange milling in prison hallways. This time, there's a bunch of guys standing around, and Mike's sitting on a bench, reading a magazine. Wow, prison looks kind of fun. CreePaul sidles up asks after the state of Mike's ribs, which apparently took quite a beating during the Great Toothbrush Skirmish. Mike once again expresses his thanks. CreePaul expresses cool, friendly dismissiveness, but then Mike firmly, for the record, states, "Seriously. If there's ever anything I can do for you, just say the word." CreePaul, creepily: "I'll keep that in mind." CreePaul wanders off. A guard calls Mike over and tells him he really ought to "find [himself] another prom date." Apparently, the guard witnessed CreePaul paying off the hired heat (even though they were totally alone in that hallway, so I'm not sure where the guard was standing to be able to see the payoff). Also, why is the guard suddenly being so nice to Mike? If we've learned anything from the movies, it's that guards are sadists out to ruin the lives of all prisoners. Anyway, Mike takes the news with his usual stoic calm, which is not unlike the way he expresses passion, frustration, pain, and deep, six-month-long comas.
Condom Corner. Susan is gloating to Gabby about how relieved she is that her trustworthy, angelic daughter Julie told her that she's not actually sexually active. Gabby bleats out a comically suspicious "Uh huh." She also appears to be pouring actual half and half into her coffee, and not some pathetic skim milk that turns the coffee blue. Just when I was getting a good hate on, Gabby goes and makes me love her again. Susan picks up the sarcasm and disbelief in Gabby's tone, but still insists that her perfect daughter wouldn't lie: "Julie's not like other girls: she's a straight-A student." Gabby: "And you were valedictorian. What were you up to that your mother didn't know about?" Susan, valedictorian? What? Who? Huh? Maybe if she were home-schooled. And had no siblings to compete with. Susan's face takes on that "thinking" glow. Cut to...
...Gabby and Susan tearing into Julie's room. Before they can start tossing the place, Gabby stops and takes photos with her cell phone: "First rule of ransacking: remember where everything goes." Susan, moved: "You are going to make a really good mother someday." After fawning over one of Julie's miniskirts (what is it they say on BBC's What Not To Wear? "Mutton dressed as lamb"?), Gabby notices something suspicious: a VCR. No one has VCRs anymore! Susan hits eject and a tape pops out. Susan's all, "See? It's just a tape." But Gabby's too wily for that. She shakes the tape and it rattles. Gabby snaps it open to reveal Julie's stash of birth control pills. The "My Daughter Gets Straight As (in Putting Penises Inside Her)" music tinkles mournfully.
Orson, resplendent in a daring purple shirt, pops in to pay Alma a little visit. Alma is her usual insanely upbeat self, but Orson immediately gets all confrontational. What does she want from him -- money? Suffering? Alma: "I want what I've always wanted: you." Orson is puzzled, given the fact that he's now married to someone else; plus there's that whole thing about how he doesn't love Alma. Ah, but Alma is better than she was before -- better, stronger, faster. All she wants is a chance to lurk in Orson's presence for a while, a chance for him to see how awesome she truly is now. And if he won't give her that chance? She'll tell Bree what Gloria told her, about what he "did to Monique." And that part about how he ran over Mike. Wait a second, how does Gloria know about the Mike hit-and-run? And also what, exactly, is it that Orson did to Monique? And, and, and: how does this even qualify as a plan, the "I blackmail you until you love me" thing? That just seems like the dumbest strategy ever. Unless Alma's really planning something else (don't forget the IV in the thigh; that for sure was part of something big), and this is all just a big distraction. In which case, this is the greatest plan ever. Anyway, in the course of their conversation, they wind up wandering out onto the porch, and when Alma seals her threats with a little peck on Orson's stunned cheek, Bree (who's watching everything out her window), of course, sees the whole thing.
When Orson returns home, a fired-up Bree is waiting for him with a big, fat confrontation all warmed up on deck. Orson, immediately on D: "She kissed me goodbye -- what was I supposed to do, slug her?" Well, given the choice between a kiss and a punch, Bree was clearly hoping for something closer to the punching side of things. Orson, shouting now: "I threatened, I shouted. She refuses to go! We're just going to have to make the best of it." He stomps off, and Bree shoots his wake a little puzzled, wounded look. So I guess this means Orson isn't going to come clean with Bree -- that he's just going to let Alma blackmail him? Brilliant.
Down at the "Put The 'Eat' In 'Pizza'" parlor, Tom is bustling out the door when his phone rings. It's Lynette, wondering if he's free for lunch. Did she forget, he's off to go look at napkins today? Lynette feigns forgetfulness, and Tom drives off. But it was all a ruse! Lynette's right across the street, watching him drive off. She scuttles inside the restaurant and finds Andrew sitting there, playing a game on a little electronic handheld thing. Apparently, he now works for Tom? Lynette seems very impressed by the improvements Tom has made; things are a far cry from the first time she saw the place, with the scampering rats, etc. Lynette asks Andrew to mum the word about her visit: she doesn't want Tom to find out she's there. Andrew snorts a "whatever, old person" laugh, and then they share an awkward silence. Lynette: "Shouldn't you be working?" Andrew: "Shouldn't you not be here?" Lynette: "Touché." Ah these two are nicely matched. Plus remember they have a history, from back when Lynette lied in her deposition about Bree's drinking, which cost Andrew his lawsuit. Lynette admires the marble-topped bar Tom's put in, and Andrew chuckles that it's "too bad [they] can't get a liquor license." This immediately sends Lynette into a tizzy. So yeah, apparently the city "re-zoned," and Tom needs to get all the residents within one block to sign off before he can get his license. Lynette: "Well, then, why isn't he dealing with it instead of shopping for napkins? We could lose our shirts in this dump." Ah, there you are, Lynette. We were wondering when you'd be back.
So now for a truly idiotic scene: Susan calls up Julie's doctor to ask why he gave her daughter a prescription without her consent, and he reports that Susan was there -- she's blonde, right? Because what doctor doesn't hand out confidential information about a patient over the phone to any woman claiming to be said patient's mother. Oh, Eagle state, you and your funny lack of ethics. Susan glances out the window and spies Edie gabbing it up with Alma, and puts it all together. Because Susan's really smart. She was valedictorian!
Lynette is bitching to Mrs. McCluskey about Tom's withholding information from her, especially when it concerns their life savings-sucking restaurant. Mrs. McC advises Lynette to help Tom without letting him know that she's helping, thereby letting him keep his "cojones" intact. Lynette acknowledges the genius that is Mrs. McC with a sideways look that says, "Mrs. McC, you are a genius."
And back to the Hair Apparent. Zana, it seems, is in the throes of what I presume is some kind of sad attempt to redo his high-school history, this time as one of the popular, sexually active kids. Someone like, say, John the Gardener? I don't really know for sure: I actually had trouble following what he was saying in this scene because my brain kept getting lost in the forest of his locks. I do know that he cited Gabby's affair with John, specifically that Zana himself is two months older than The Gardener, meaning that he knows chicken-hawking hasn't been a problem for Gabby in the past. And yet? Gabby tells Zana that John was a mistake -- that it was nothing but loneliness that drove her to him. Zana points out that Gabby's surely lonely now, with Carlos gone. Plus now Zana has the green to take care of Gabby in high style. Gabby: "Who says I need someone to take care of me?" Zana heartlessly explains that the whole neighborhood thinks Gabby only stayed with mean old Carlos because she needed someone to lean on. The "Plucky Lady" music thumps into life, and Gabby says, "Well, they were wrong." She gets up to leave, and Zana tells her that he's "not going to give up." Gabby clucks, "Oh, sweetie, I wish you would." And then she plants a motherly kiss on Zana's forehead. He grabs her and sucks her into a creepy and profoundly unsexy forced kiss, and she whaps him on the arm with her purse, huffing, "Don't hijack a Ferrari if you don't know how to drive." Gabby stomps off, and Zana sits there, looking waspish. Uh oh. Something tells me that Zana isn't going to be the greatest at handling rejection. Remember how he freaked out on Julie? And now he's proved himself capable of murder, not to mention beating a woman with a hockey stick. Gabby had better check herself before she...finds herself at the bottom of a skanky well, rubbing lotion all over her overly tanned hide.
And while we're talking about retina-scarring May-December encounters: Lynette arrives at the door of the last remaining liquor license holdout. It's Harry Gaunt, played by Richard Herd, an actor who has been in every single television show ever made, so you've seen him before for sure; he's basically a poor man's Karl Malden. Mr. Gaunt immediately reveals himself to be a bit of a perv, all "I always have time for a pretty girl" and then staring at Lynette's cleavage, which, to be fair, is on pretty high alert in this scene. Gaunt blusters that he doesn't want a bunch of "noisy jackasses puking on [his] doorstep," a scenario he's convinced a liquor license will bring, and Lynette does a weird sort of Marilyn Monroe half-moan, "Cummmawwwwnnn," leaning over and giving him a nice view of the promised land. But he keeps his heels dug in, and his eyes on her prize(s). Lynette calls him on his ogling, actually clicking at him like she's signaling a horse. Harry: "I know, I don't mean to be rude. It's just that my showgirl days are a while ago and I can't remember the last time I laid eyes on a beautiful woman's bosom." Lynette, with the "Let's Make A Deal" harpsichord swelling underneath: "Really? Well, what if I were to very briefly refresh your memory?" She drops the petition down in front of Gaunt. Cut to...
...Lynette buttoning up her blouse and Harry frantically signing his John Hancock. Which...wow, sounds just filthy, I know. But he really is just signing the petition. And when he hands it to her, he merrily says that the trade was "completely worth it." Which would be funny, or maybe sweet, if it wasn't all so disturbingly gross.
House of the Rising Crazy. Through the window, cheery Alma spots Bree walking over to the house, and in the last few seconds before Bree's arrival, she scrambles to get her bird, Baby, to say something. Wait, is this the same Baby bird? Oh, wait: according to the boards, "the first 'Baby' was an Amazon, and the new 'Baby' looks like a rose-breasted cockatoo." So Alma got a new bird and named it Baby too? Or maybe this bird's first name isn't really Baby. Maybe it's Janet? Or Miss Jackson, if you're nasty? In which case this bird situation is just another straw in the nuttiness haystack that is breaking Alma's proverbial camel's back. A mover suddenly appears, and stops his schlepping long enough to ask if it's really possible to teach birds to say something; Alma readily confirms it: "In fact, I think they're smarter than people." Bree rings the door bell, and Alma finishes her expositing by pointedly saying, "Some people, that is." Cold! But the second she opens the door, she's all sunbeams and kitten tongues: she chirps and flaps Bree inside and offers her fresh lemonade. Bree cuts right to it: what's it going to take to get Alma off Wisteria Lane? Alma pretends to be surprised by the question. Bree: "Oh, please -- Orson made it perfectly clear we don't want you here." But Alma expertly lies that Orson did no such thing; he simply came over earlier to welcome her to the neighborhood. Bree's conviction is clearly shaken. And after the many accusations and police visits, is it any wonder that she's primed and ready to doubt Orson? Alma slickly pretends to have "said too much," and then conveniently wanders off to help the movers do something or another to an end table. The second she's gone, Baby II delivers the line Alma trained him/her/it to say: "Don't tell Bree." I guess Alma is hoping Bree will extrapolate that the bird overhead Orson and Alma plotting something. Bree seems to get the message loud and clear: she drops her lemonade, and the glass shatters. Stunned, she grabs some paper towels off the counter, and then she sees a broom hanging up in the pantry. As she walks over to grab it, her heel gets stuck in a hole in the floor. She leans down to set herself free and discovers a hiding spot underneath the floorboards. Inside: a photo of Monique and Orson and a bag full of bloody teeth. Bree grabs the teeth, returns the board to its hole, closes the pantry door, and then stands there, panting. When Alma returns moments later, Bree stutters something about her broken glass, and then heads for the door. Alma stops her to say, "I understand why you might feel a little threatened by my moving in here." Bree stands there at the door, cowering. Alma goes on: "But in time you'll see I'm perfectly harmless." Yeah, right.
Carlos comes to visit Gabby and see how her date with the secret admirer went. "Good-looking," Gabby reports, "just not my type." Carlos, gloating: "Oh, really? Because I always thought that you and [Zana] would make a really great couple." Apparently, Carlos followed Gabby to the restaurant just to make sure she was okay. Sweet. "I thought you were at meeting a psycho killer for lunch," Carlos explains. "Well, at least until they brought out the crayons and children's menus." Gabby informs Carlos that she actually won't be needing his guard-dog services anymore: she's having an alarm installed; she'll be fine on her own. Sisters are doing it for themselves, etc. This whole "woman hear me roar" thing feels a little tired to me. Didn't we go through this exact same thing with Susan?
Titsville. Tom comes home early and in the mood to celebrate: he got his liquor license! Lynette admirably feigns surprise. Tom explains that, apparently, Andrew went door to door and got the signatures. Except that Tom's pretty sure Andrew's lying. He thinks some nosy someone else did the legwork. Lynette fesses up, and Tom goes directly into his sad-sack routine: "Order has been restored: you saved the day, I'm a loser." He takes a bit swig of...bourbon? Whiskey? And confesses that the license wasn't the only problem: there's also termites and plumbing issues and the little matter of the chairs not getting delivered until after the opening of the restaurant. Lynette chides Tom for not telling her about all of his woes, and he whines that he was hoping he could be the man for once. Yeah, wouldn't that be nice? Lynette soothes him with stories about all the jingles he's helped her with at her job -- I guess she still has a job? All evidence to the contrary? Tom allows himself to be soothed, they make up, and sex is back on the menu!
Oh, right. Julie. This is going to be a rough one. I'm going to just go grab a beer...
...okay, I'm back. So Julie comes home and Susan is sitting out on the front porch, waiting for her. Julie can immediately tell that something's wrong. Susan holds out Julie's birth-control pills, and Julie is completely busted. Clearly, she's had no prior warning about this confrontation, which means that not only is Austin nothing but a two-timing torso, but he also didn't have the guts to talk to Julie once he realized that the cat(ty slut Danielle) was out of the bag. What an utter shit. Susan, to her credit, is very, very nice. She confronts Julie about her lying, but holds off on screaming that sex makes your peeper sting or whatever. They talk about trust, and about how you have to find ways to communicate (and not go running to Edie) even if one or both parties is having a meltdown. Julie apologizes, but explains that even though Susan's not that into the idea, she and Austin are indeed in love. Ugh, and here comes the string section. Susan: "Yeah, about that..." Susan puts her arm around Julie, and the camera pans up, up, and away. Hey, I have a question: where's Karl? Wouldn't he want to be a part of this conversation? At the very least, I'd like to see him put Austin over his knee for a good paddling. And (you guys, I can't believe I even have to say this) not in a sexy way.
Casa Tooth and Consequences. Bree calls Orson at work and leaves a message for him to come home right away. She puts down the phone and stares at the bloody teeth (Monique's, right? I mean they have to be, right?), she's just holding right there in her bare hand. Pret-ty gnarly. Though I guess you have quietly admire, if not outright love, a show that uses both teeth and dentures as murderous plot points.
And that kicks us in to the Mary Alice wrap-up. "It's a dangerous world," she reminds us, "so we all look for protection." Oh, right: today's episode has been sponsored by the letter protection.
MA tells us that some of us find safety "it in the arms of our mother [sic]." Julie sits on the porch, weeping, as Susan sadly tries to soothe her. Well, at least they didn't drag that out with some wacky hijinks, with Julie refusing to believe Susan or whatever. That would have been truly grim.
Others, according to MA, find their comfort in "a jagged blade." We see Mike lying in his bunk, clutching his sad little toothbrush.
Tom and Lynette, MA tells us, find protection in frenching each other.
Bree, no surprise, finds hers "at the end of a barrel." She grabs her pistol out of a drawer and looks out her window.
MA: "We do what we have to to feel safe. Because we know, somewhere in the world, there are those who would do us harm." Alma, out at the curb taking out her trash, spies Bree standing in her window and waves coyly. Oh man. Crazy train!
Up : Zana jams his tongue and maybe even some uvula down Gabby's wee gullet.