By Evany
Dead Mary Alice finally gives it a rest and lets dead Rex Van de Kamp do the smug omniscient narrator thing -- a switch-up that's oddly not all that noticeable. Edie's ex surprises her by dropping off their eight-year-old son (!) for a one-month stay. Edie, who is a terrible mother, heads out on a date and gets drunk, leaving her son at home unattended. Carlos, who's got a hot date of his own, spies Edie's son playing out in the street. He brings the kid inside, effectively derailing the sex train he almost had choo-chooing with his own date. When Edie stumbles home, Carlos gives her a tongue-lashing, and not in a sexy way. Tom and Lynette are coming up on their ninth wedding anniversary, and all Lynette wants to do is take a bath and go to bed early, also not in a sexy way. Tom wants to celebrate by surprising Lynette with a complicated cornholio plan that involves both a limo ride and a horse-drawn carriage, and also a viola player. Lynette gets wind of the surprise and immediately starts with the whining. Tom cancels his plans in a hurt little huff, and organizes a poker game with the Boys of Wisteria instead. Lynette feels guilty, so when the limo driver -- who didn't get the cancellation message -- arrives at the house, she puts on a dress and heads out, a wacklarious mix-up that leads to her spending two hours in the middle of nowhere, freezing and burning with rage. Tom discovers what happened and comes to get her, sputtering sorries galore. They head to a diner and all looks doomed between them, but then Lynette admits that she...blah blah blah, they're totally still in love, the end. Ian lets it slip that he knew about the ring Mike planned to give Susan before he got be-coma-ed. Mike is not pleased. Things come to a head at the poker game, and the snarks start to fly almost as fast as the chips. Ian puts a bunch of money into the pot, which Mike matches with an IOU promise never to tell Susan about the ring; Ian wins the hand, meaning that Mike is now silenced, and Ian and Susan's nups are going down. A cocky mayoral candidate likes the look of Gabby, so he has his driver ram her car. Barbs, jabs, and spars ensue. He and Gabby go out on the inevitable date, but despite his riches and power (huh?), Gabby tells him that she's not interested, which only fans his flames higher. He tells some waiter that someday he's going to "marry that woman," etc. Austin writes a letter to Julie that magically makes her want to give him another chance, except that Danielle's all knocked up, and apparently Austin's the dad. Orson arranges for Danielle to head out of town to have the baby, and insists that Austin leave Fairview, too, like permanently. Austin balks, citing his love of Julie, but Andrew reminds Austin what a dog he really is, and how it's only a matter of time before he strays on Julie once again. Though it pains him so, Austin agrees with Andrew, and after a stilted goodbye, he and his waxed torso vroom off on his rebel-cycle, whatever.
MAVO takes us through the previouslies (Danielle is a slut in heat; Bree once, in a better, funnier galaxy far, far away, had a husband named Rex), but when the episode itself actually gets started, the VO switches -- with no explanation or fanfare -- over to none other than dead Rex Van de Kamp himself. As we gaze upon Rex's tombstone, which reads that he died in 2005, just two short years ago (and yet...doesn't that seem so much longer than that, those salad days back when the show was spry and full of promise?), Rex VOs about how much he's always hated cemeteries. This unmemorable insight (who doesn't dislike cemeteries?) provides the clumsy contrasting entrée to some place "a whole lot nicer": the Van de Kamp manse, which he reports is as clean and orderly as ever, "everything perfect...at least on the surface." A redheaded stand-in for Marcia Cross lugs a suitcase into the foyer, and then Good Andrew comes down, helpfully carrying more luggage. Rex points out that "you'd never guess" Andrew spent the last half year on the street, getting by on "panhandling and light prostitution." Danielle comes in and gives Bree a sweet hug, and Rex asks us if she looks at all like the kind of girl who'd "seduce her middle-aged history teacher?" REXVO: "I mean, they're my kids, and I love 'em. But I'm pretty darned relieved to be dead!" Ho ho ho.
, Rex introduces us to Orson (why does he feel the need to tell us all this stuff we already know?), the "clown" who married Bree. Apparently Orson has "creeped" Rex out from the very start. Orson Felix Ungers a piece of lint off of Bree's Burberry carryon. Rex tells us how Orson always seems to have the "shifty look of a guy who knows where the bodies are buried. And he should know: he buried them." Note that Rex said "bodies," plural -- was Rex just being generally descriptive, or should we be dredging the local lakes for more corpses? The playful Unreliable and Possibly Jealous Narrator music plucks merrily away. Hey, Rex? Don't you have something to say to Bree? An apology, maybe, for suspecting her of murdering you? Or how about for never, ever managing to give her an orgasm? Hm?
Orson puts Bree into a cab (she, it turns out, is heading off to visit her parents before she and Orson meet up for their honeymoon trip -- an extended cover story that ought to explain away Marcia Cross's baby-related absence through the end of the season), and Orson and the kids all wave as she drives away. Tom and Carlos, who are out in the street enthusiastically playing with some sort of...radio-controlled toy thing, wave merrily at Orson, and Rex tells us with disgust how all his old friends love Orson, too. All except Mike, who strolls right on up to Orson and gives him hell for planting that murderous wrench on him. Mike makes some veiled threats about going to the police and telling them how Orson was at Monique's house the night of her murder. Orson volleys back veiled threats of his own, about how interested the cops would be in the story of Mike chasing him off the roof at the hospital. Stalemate! They stare into each other's eyes with tantric intensity, and then Orson smugly holds out his hand and Mike shakes it resignedly. Credits!
We return to a Rex-narrated montage of the miserable (never-before-seen) women of Wisteria Lane: a woman with a secret drinking problem, a woman with a stroller that she can't seem to remove from her trunk (the worst!), a woman with the wimpy, wimpy, wimpy trash bag that tears in half and spills garbage all over her front lawn. Rex: "But I don't want to talk about them. No. I want to talk about their men. And what happens to a guy when the special lady in his life starts to lose it." Rex introduces us to Carlos, a man who used to have it all -- sexy wife, money, etc. -- but then it all went poof, and now Carlos has to resort to "creative ways" to find satisfaction in life: Carlos, it appears, is now exploring the rich depths of internet dating. Does looking for a sex connection online really count as getting "creative," in this day and age? The profile he's looking at is of a sassy blonde by the name of "crzydncr206" (you mean there were 205 other vowel-hating dance-lovers who got to the site first?), who is looking for a "boy to dance the night away." Ugh. Her profile says that she's thirty-two, and from "Fairview, E.S." As in the Eagle State. Nice consistency, sad little PA who surely stayed up all night artfully crafting this ad! The ad also indicates that she's "slender," and "spiritual but not religious." And she "definitely" wants kids.
Mike comes in, and Carlos guiltily snaps his laptop shut. Mike hamfists the plot along by explaining that the hospital called; someone apparently found some more of Mike's things, leftover from his big coma stay. Carlos offers to send Mike -- who's clearly had a bad year, what with the coma and the arrest -- off for a well-deserved night in a fancy hotel. Mike immediately picks up on the fact that Carlos is trying to get rid of him, and Carlos admits that he's hoping to dance the night away with a slender spiritual crzy woman, whom Carlos winningly describes as a "complete freak with serious daddy issues." Nice. Mike promises to stay in his room and make not a peep. Carlos: "Yeah, but you'll hear me. I'm kind of...exuberant by nature, and when I haven't had it in awhile, I kind of do this...shrieking thing." Mike throws up in his mouth and agrees to spend the night at a hotel. Shouldn't Carlos's condo be ready by now? Or is this contrived "we have to find some way to consolidate the scenes of these two single characters" roommate situation now a permanent setup? Also: Carlos shrieks when he's sexing? That's a mental sound bite that's unpleasantly hard to shake.
Rex ushers us over to Tom's house, where Tom and Lynette are taking turns complaining about how very tired they are, what with running the pizzeria and so on. Lynette reveals that she fielded a confirmation call from the restaurant where Tom made reservations for their anniversary -- reservations she took the liberty of canceling because really, truly, she would prefer just to come home, take a bath, and crawl in bed for an early night's sleep. Tom tries to drum up some celebratory rah-rah ("Come on, the big nine[-year mark]! That's a year longer than my mother said we would be married!"), but Lynette is just too tired to care. She is also, it appears, too tired to rinse her mouth out after she brushes her teeth: she spends this entire scene brushing her teeth, then just spits and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Are the Scavos now so poor that they can no longer afford running water? Tom: "What about my sex? I always get sex on our anniversary." Lynette: "We can still have sex, just try not to wake me." Long-term relationships are hot. Tom gives a funny little "I'll take whatever I can get" shrug.
Rex takes us over to Ian, who, we're told, knows that, in the war of love, you have to "bring out the big artillery." Ian hands Susan a jewelry box, and she's dazzled by its prodigious size. She squeals and giggles, and then she holds out her hand and says, "Rock me." Which is weirdly cute and revolting all at the same time. Ian slips on the ring, and Susan starts jumping around manically, and the ring slips off her finger onto the floor, just like a poor meatball. Susan pounces on it, and then Ian frantically urges her to go in and get ring resized right away, like today. And hey, when does Susan want to start talking about the location of their reception? Susan: "What's the rush? Am I pregnant?" Ha! Ian tries to play it off as love-swooning eagerness to get his knot tied to Susan, but she suspects him of being weirdly "anxious." Cut to...
...Mike, down at the hospital, a puzzled look on his face as he holds the ring meant for Susan. He tells the nurse that he has no memory of it, so she points out the inscription, which reads, "Susan, be mine forever, Mike." Mike looks sad and mad.
Edie comes a-knocking at Mike's house, and Carlos answers the door. (You'd think that she'd be a little shy about showing her face around those parts, given the gross way she dumped Mike, no?) Edie is there to reintroduce her son to Carlos. Well, well. Edie has a son! The kid's name is "Travers" -- as if a child of Edie doesn't have enough to worry about, he also has to have a name that sounds like some rashy thing you get from sitting around too long in a wet bathing suit. Carlos immediately gets all palsy walsy and hunkers down on his knees so he's at kid level. Travers tells him that he remembers Carlos handing out protein bars at Halloween. I love how we're just pretending Edie's son and Wisteria Lane go way back, even though this is the first we've seen of him in over sixty episodes. Oh, Travers -- yes, of course! Anyway, Edie's there because she wants Carlos to babysit tonight; she has a big party to go to, and Travers's dad surprised her by dropping him off for a month-long visit without any warning. Dad, Edie snipes, is off to fix cleft palates in Kenya with Doctors Without Borders, "the selfish son of a bitch." That does seem like the kind of trip a person would know about well in advance, actually. So why did he surprise Edie with this? Hm. Unfortunately, Carlos, as we well know, already has plans to be doing some shrieking tonight, and is thus not available for Travers-watching. Edie -- who I feel compelled to tell you looks a touch "Cro-Magnon Man" in this scene, like she accidentally switched her Botox injection with her collagen shot and gave her brow an unfortunate plumping -- stomps off in a huff.
Aw, yeah: It's my all-time favorite "Zimmer Gender Solutions Knee" spot! Have you heard? It's "The knee women are talking about™." Yes. It is true. Brunch spots and sanitary-napkin aisles everywhere are, indeed, abuzz with feminine chit-chattery about this very knee! Every time I see this spot, I struggle to imagine the magical brainstorming session that gave (breach) birth to such an amazing tagline. And then insisted it be trademarked. "We can't have Quizno's stealing this most excellent line! Best trademark the thing." This really is such a wonderful world.
When we return, Carlos is making himself useful by mowing Mike's lawn (not a euphemism...sadly). Tom skips over to ask Carlos if it's true that he's got some sort of connection in the limo-renting world. Because? You guessed it: Tom is going to completely ignore Lynette's request for R&R (which he's misinterpreted as a passive-aggressive nudge to get him to up the ante...and really, who can blame him: he has been well trained by Lynette's long-standing policy of passive aggression). Instead, Tom's going to implement this involved Chutes & Ladders plan to have a limo driver surprise Lynette with a bouquet of flowers and a note telling her to get dressed up and get into the limo, which will take her to some remote country intersection where Tom will be waiting with a horse and carriage to take her to a country villa, where he will waste even more of their waning family funds on a catered meal and a violinist. Carlos, with a surprisingly notable lack of sarcasm: "You're one romantic son of a bitch." Maybe it's just me, but the very idea of a live violinist hovering around my table, like a child waiting for you to watch it jump off high dive again and again as you indulgently smile on, just makes me tired and tense. Then again, I have the same ideas about lap dancers, whom many people seem to enjoy just fine, so perhaps I just don't know what love is.
Gabby shows up at Old Vic's office to get his signature on her check. He greets her warmly, referring to her as "Mrs. Solis," which is interesting -- I guess Gabby hasn't gone back to her maiden name just quite yet? Or at least her checking account hasn't. Vic is faux-mortified over his failure to sign his check, and he proposes to take Gabby out to a fancy dinner as reparation. And The Heat Is On music swells! I don't know, he just seemed so much more likeable on Sex & the City, while here he just seems full of himself and even slightly Montgomery Burns-ian. Once again, a scenario that worked so well on S&TC falls leaden on Desperate Housewives; somehow, these repotted plots just don't seem to thrive as well in the soils of Wisteria Lane. Vic: "Great! I'll take you to Cucina...there's no place harder to get into!" Gabby: "That's what you think!" And I thought I was the only one who referred to the female vagina as "Cucina"! Speaking of vaginas, hold on to yours as we cut to...
...Ian, holding a check from Mike to the tune of $8500, a reimbursement for the legal fees Ian covered on Mike's behalf. Huh: somehow I thought those lawyer bills would be a lot, lot, lot more than that. Through the course of the conversation, Mike reveals that he sold Susan's would-be engagement ring to cover the check, and Ian manages to let slip that he knew about the inscription, meaning that he's seen Mike's ring. And queue the Pop Goes Creepy, Manipulative, Jealous Weasel music. What does Susan even see in that varmint Ian, exactly? Is it his grating mid-Atlantic accent? His untamed insecurities? What? Ian scuttles off, and Mike stares after him with menace in his heart and two eyes made out of coal; he does that a lot in the episode. Speaking of territorial pissing...
...Danielle weepingly informs Austin that she's "peed on five different sticks." Wow, high school sure is getting fetishy these days. Oh, wait -- does she mean sticks as in...pregnancy tests? Ah. Austin suggests a visit to a "clinic," but Danielle insists that he has to marry her, which seems a little old-fashioned for our spunky little Danielle. Usually Danielle is such a Bree Contrarian, so falling in step with Bree's rigid anti-unwed mother leanings is somewhat unexpected. Also: how do we know the baby even belongs to Austin? What about the gross, married History teacher Danielle dirtied? Danielle races off to go get morning sick in Edie's bathroom, and the second she's gone, a shining-faced Julie arrives, all contrite and happy after reading Austin's "sweet" letter. I really cannot fathom what Austin could have possibly put in that letter that would have been good enough to get her to forgive him for lying and cheating on her, but apparently he found Julie's secret abracadabra, because now she's super gung-ho to start over with him. Even more miraculously: Danielle stays in the bathroom long enough for Austin to hustle Julie out of there.
Down at Cucina (the restaurant, not the vagina), Old Vic is hard at work trying to charm the pants off Gabby, but Gabby just giggles and tells him she sees right through him: she knows that he deliberately rammed her car, and she knows that he deliberately left his signature off her check. And now she's is going to deliberately not go on another date with him. Her reluctance to date a very rich and powerful man seems wildly out of character for Gabby, but maybe Zana burned the gold-digger out of her? Or perhaps she just remembered that this guy has a Golden Showers fetish? Vic: "Haven't you noticed? I'm a catch?" Ew. Gabby: "I have noticed, and I'm throwing you back." Vic gives her the speech about always getting what he wants, and now he wants her, and yet still she strolls away. Vic, to the (I guess) waiter: "Bruno? I'm going to marry that girl." What's with this episode? Just an endless stream of marital plotting brought on by all the wrong reasons: pregnancy (Danielle and Austin), panic (Susan and Ian), and now the base thrill of the chase. Bluh. I know Vic's stalkish behavior and astounding ego (girls are expected to appreciate the inconvenience of getting their cars rammed simply because he's the one doing the ramming?) are both supposed to come off as alluring, but really, this whole plotline is just kind of dull; whenever I think back on this episode, I keep completely forgetting this guy even exists. Also -- and maybe this is it just me -- is John Slattery like a humorless, sex-and-pepper-haired version of The Kids In The Hall's Kevin McDonald? Ah, if only they'd actually used Kevin McDonald here, versus just lifting the actor from Sex & The City...that would have been truly inspired.
Carlos's Crzy date night is in full swing, and things are looking very pre-coital. He and Crzy are swigging wine and kissing with much enthusiasm. He tells her how much hotter she is than in her pictures, and she tipsily responds that "so many guys say that." So I'm guessing Carlos found her in the Casual Encounters section? In which case, the fact that she said she "definitely" wants kids in her ad seems weirdly off-topic. They're mid tonsil-tonguing when Carlos's bionic ears pick up the lonely sound of a basketball being thunked outside. Carlos looks out the window and spies Travers playing in the street. Carlos seems worried, but Crzy is far more interested in yanking down Carlos's pants and smearing his face with her lipstick than she is in the child's welfare. Carlos tries to get into the sexing, but his paternal feelings can't be quieted, so he races outside to get Travers, who reports that Edie is off visiting a "sick friend." Inside, Crzy yanks on her coat, saying that she's not interested in "babysitting some little brat." Carlos: "Shh! He can hear you!" Crzy: "I don't care!" Yes, "definitely" get this woman some kids of her own, stat. She takes off, and Travers apologizes for "ruining [Carlos's] date." Carlos, with a big sigh: "That's okay. She was a very bad lady who wanted to do very, very bad things to me."
Later. Edie, wearing a tight, tight pink satin party dress, gets dropped off in front of her house by someone named "Raoul" and finds a note from Carlos on her door. Edie, doing an excellent "tipsy but trying to hide it" (nice work, Nicollette Sheridan!), raps on Carlos's/Mike's door to find a very disapproving Carlos waiting up for her. She tries to pretend that she's only been gone an hour, but Carlos hastens to report that he found Travers a full three hours ago. Carlos gives her a stern lecture about how eight-year-olds need supervision. Really, Edie? You couldn't find one person on the Lane to look after your son? Not Mrs. McCluskey? Austin, even? Certainly Lynette never seems to have any problem finding some last-minute someone to watch her eight million kids. Edie tries getting indignant, but Carlos stops her cold by telling her what a bad mother she is. The Sad Mommie Dearest music swells, and Edie's face crumples. Carlos, stern with judgment (and, one can only imagine, a terrible case of blue balls), tells her to come back to pick up her son in the morning, once she's slept her drunk off. Huh. Something about this streak of irresponsibility doesn't quite fit the Edie I know and...know. Typically, Edie does her best to do right by people, in her own special way: She took Austin in when his mother gave him the boot, and she's repeatedly tried to help Julie (with her singing recital and her birth control). I just don't buy that she'd leave her young son at home alone. Bring a guy back to her house for some inappropriately loud sexing, sure, but not leave the kid utterly alone.
In the kitchen, Andrew frankly tells Austin that he's a dog, and knows it. Andrew advises Austin to look into his heart -- it shouldn't be hard to find; it's right there, underneath his glistening, perpetually naked chest -- and consider how long it will be, realistically, before Austin cheats on Julie yet again; he adds, with a charity I didn't believe him capable of: "Julie deserves better." At first, Austin looks offended by this line of questioning, but slowly, the self-realization bubbles forth, followed shortly thereafter by self-disgust. Also, for some unexplained reason, Andrew is totally checking out Austin's ass throughout this entire scene. Maybe because he's still interested in paying Austin a special visit (and not just for the BBQ, or the bridge bats, or the two-stepping...I'm talking about the SEXING). Or perhaps some secret, Method-acting tangent is to blame, like Shawn Pyfrom has become convinced that Andrew dreams of becoming a proctologist. Or maybe Andrew just really, really likes dogs?
Down at the Scavoria, the gentlemen's poker game is about to begin! Carlos is there, and Orson, too. (I wonder how Orson even heard about the game, seeing as he's supposed to be out of town by now?) Mike arrives, and he and Orson exchange wary looks. Then Ian walks in, and Mike looks even less pleased. Mike is juggling so many beefs, he should...host a cookout. (Sorry, that's all I've got on that one.) Carlos whisper-asks Tom what "Fish and Chips" is doing there, and Tom whispers back that Susan asked Tom to invite Ian because the poor Brit wanted to learn how to play poker. How does everyone in town know about this game? Didn't Tom decide to host it just this afternoon?
Julie is getting out of her car when Austin walks up. He glumly reports that he's there to say goodbye. Julie looks confused and disappointed; once girls get a taste of that greasy abdomen, they never stop craving it. Austin, soulful, bitter: "I just want you to know that it means a lot that you were willing to give me a second chance. You're, like, the only person who's ever done that." And yet...didn't the Scavos rehire him even after he got caught smoking the chronic at the restaurant? As an Ode to the Suddenly and Depressingly Self-Aware Human Torso toodles away on the Desperate piano, Julie pulls Austin in for a goodbye kiss. After staring a burning stare in her general direction, he turns and walks sad, sad, sad, all the way home.
Back to the big "Poker? I Don't Even Really Remember Wanting to Marry Her" game. Tom folds. "Another courageous move for Foldilocks," taunts Carlos. Foldilocks! Ian appears to be winning, and tempers are wearing thin. Mike suddenly starts grilling Ian about why he proposed to Susan so suddenly, without even pausing to get a ring, clearly digging at the fact that Ian only proposed because he found Mike's ring and wanted to nup Susan up before she found out about Mike's ring, too. Tom tries to refocus everyone back onto the game, but Mike bitterly explains that he recently discovered that he himself bought a ring for Susan, before some "son of a bitch" ran him over and put him in a coma. Orson, in a mildly funny bid to change the topic (which for obvious reasons is less than comfortable for him), jumps in to say, "Hey, Tom's right, we should focus on the game." But Mike keeps pushing: he checked with the hospital, he knows that Mike's ring got mixed up with Ian's wife's things, he knows that Ian saw Mike's ring the very day he proposed to Susan. Mike, menacingly: "What do you think Susan would say if she found out why your proposal was so spontaneous?" And yet, hadn't she and Ian been talking about marriage even before he found the ring? What gives? Who cares? This whole disgruntlement of Mike's just feels so forced to me. Luckily, Tom's phone interrupts the testosterone tête à tête: It's the limo driver. He has a flat, and is therefore going to be a little late picking up Tom and Lynette. Tom is totally confused, seeing as he canceled the limo for tonight. Ah, but apparently limo-man didn't get the message; no, he went ahead and picked up Lynette and dropped her off at the remote rural intersection two whole hours ago. Cut to...
...Lynette, wearing nothing but a skimpy cocktail dress, shivering alone in the dark. A coyote cries mournfully. Does this episode seem endless beyond all sanity to you? Yeah, me too.
Tom scampers off to go rescue Lynette, and the rest of the guys settle in for some serious, high-stakes poker. Ian pushes a tall stack of chips into the pot, and Orson folds disgustedly, followed shortly thereafter by Carlos. As Ian and Mike settle into another one of those epic extended-remix hate stares, Orson and Carlos wander off to go find some more booze. While they're gone, the betting continues to escalate. Mike pushes all his chips in, and Ian drops Mike's $8500 reimbursement check onto the pot. Mike isn't able to match the raise, so Ian proposes that Mike bet an IOU to not tell Susan about Ian's ring-espying secret. In other words, if Ian wins this hand, Mike has to keep silent. This makes zero sense to me: what does Mike have to gain here, other than the money, which he's already parted ways with sans hardship or struggle? Right now, Mike's free to tell Susan whatever he wants; why risk setting himself up with a potential gag order? Also, according to my very meager understanding of poker, doesn't the fact that Mike's already pushed all his chips in mean that he's in for the ride, all further raises aside, with no actual obligation to meet those raises? Sigh. Mike looks down at his full house of Queens and Kings, and goes ALL IN. Dumb, dumb, dumbbbb. Cut to...
...the legs of a man, walking up to Susan's house. She opens her front door and, without our knowing who's arrived on her doorstep, asks, "How was the game?" The camera switches to reveal Ian, who smugly says, "I won." Oh man, so incredibly dumb. Also: wasn't Ian not even supposed to know how to play poker? Are we supposed to believe he won Mike's eternal silence thanks to nothing more than a stinking case of beginner's luck?
Tom pulls up to Lynette, who's limping down a deserted country road. He rolls down the window and sputters a litany of apologies. Lynette, too cold to speak, simply throws her bouquet of roses into his face.
Later, Lynette and Tom walk into a roadside diner, and Lynette throws her strappy silver shoes down on the counter. Man, she really looks as though she's at the end of her rope. Tom starts in with the apologizing again, and Lynette shushes him. Tom switches tactics: "Wait till the kids find out that you saw a real coyote!" Ha! Lynette glares at him. Tom gives up. "No more surprises," he tells her, defeated. "From now on, I'll do exactly what you say." Lynette, moaning: "Don't. You. Dare." She tearfully admits that Tom was right all along -- that no matter how tired they get, they have to "keep the romance going." Tom: "So you want me to surprise you year?" Lynette, sighing and crying: "Knock yourself out." Tom, the beginnings of a smiling playing about his lips: "Just wait! Because I will think of something even better." That was actually kind of funny, and sweet, and I even pinched off a wee tear. When these two are on, and they're given the right material, they really, really soar. And stick the landing. And wave at the judges oh-so-winningly. Their mugs of coffee arrive, and Tom and Lynette toast. "Nine years," Lynette cries, "and I have loved every minute of it." Tom quietly agrees. Interestingly enough (by which I mean not at all interesting), the ninth anniversary is the year you're supposed to exchange gifts made of pottery (I checked...I really, really did), so their little mug clink is actually quite fitting. (Please help me. I'm trapped inside this inane paragraph and can't get out.)
And...bring it on home, Rex! As Lynette and Tom pull into their driveway, Rex narrates about the kinds of sad sacks men there are to be found in suburbia. There's the (random) guy, walking his dog and thinking to himself, "Aw crap, my dreams are never going to come true." Then we see Orson put Danielle into the car, and (still according to Rex) think, "I'm never going to have a life free from scandal." Carlos sits, holding a basketball, and thinks, "I'll never have a son of my own." Austin, sitting on his bike, stares off into space and thinks, "I'll never hold [Julie] in my arms again." Then he screeches off on his bad, bad motorcycle. Mike, standing across from Susan's house, thinks, "I'll never get to tell her how I feel." Idiot.
Rex: "Yeah, the suburbs are filled with a lot of men who've given up hope." We see Tom and Lynette scuttle up their front stairs. "Of course, every once in awhile, you do come across some lucky S.O.B. whose dreams have all come true." Lynette stops, turns to Tom, and then just starts full-on frenching him all up and down his grill. Rex: "You know how you spot them? They're the ones who can't stop smiling. Don't you just hate those guys?"
All in all, Rex didn't really do much for us, did he? He didn't uncover any deep, dark secrets; he didn't express any juicy, heartfelt regrets about missing Bree or his family. He didn't give us a new big mystery to carry us through to the end of the season. He didn't even explain who the titular Pig (in the episode title) is supposed to be. All he really told us was that the way to spot the guy whose dreams have come true is to look for a neverending smile, a symptom that also just happens to describe the mentally disabled and any raver sucking on a methylenedioxymethamphetamine-soaked pacifier.
And that's it. The end. My friends? Scorpion, Sub Zero, Sonia? I will see your tight battle asses sometime in April. Until then, I recommend you enjoy the hell out of those Cadbury's Mini-Eggs (both regular and new dark chocolate)!