Mrs. Bob sits bedside vigil next to her maybe-dying husband. He sits up and croaks through his newly-accessorized neck tube, "Don't worry. It'll be all right." Mrs. Bob nods. Foreman stands at the door wearing a grim look that says, "She understood the definition of 'cardiovascular' and 'renal.' But she's dead wrong if she agrees with his diagnosis of 'all right.'"
House sits in his office enjoying some kind of virgin or pancake kind of meal from a Tupperware container, and Wilson soon stomps through the door, puts his hands menacingly (well, for someone so darn cute!) on his hips, and asks, "Are you enjoying the salad?" Wilson says that he made this salad for himself, prompting House to ask, "Well, how was I supposed to know?" At which Wilson indicates a Post-It Note on the top of said container reading, "MY LUNCH. DO NOT TOUCH!!" Oh, that could mean almost anything. As if he could be castrated by this argument any further, Cuddy barrels in at that moment, wearing an outfit containing every shade of pink in that limited section of the color wheel, and hands House a chart: "It's Mrs. Lambert's herpes test results," she says, and this of course means nothing to House. When he professes ignorance, she fills in the blanks: "You've told more than one patient his wife is sleeping with his daughter's karate teacher?" Something dawns on House, just as Cuddy adds that he can clean up the mess of the pot he stirred. House, I imagine, wonders if anything in that pot is eventually going to turn into pancakes. What House actually does is muse aloud on what people do when they find out they have herpes. If a man would step out on his wife, he wonders, would he not say anything in the hopes that she would contract it too as the result of her stepping out on him? Wilson wonders if he would really give his own wife herpes just to shift the blame, and Cuddy jumps in to snipe, "He'd give his own mother herpes if it got him out of Clinic duty." But House is already in that House-y world of his own, just at that exact moment when a story of lesser importance suddenly emerges to inform that more pressing A-story of his episode. Which kind of makes me wonder if that will happen right now. "Of course, maybe it was the wife. Maybe she was the one who..." He stares off into space as it all comes together just in the nick of time. Like that pinchy-faced harlot with no name wasn't always up to no good.
House finds Cameron in The Room Where They Perform Some Tests and asks, "Where's Mrs. Nympho?" See? He doesn't know her name either. Unless they really are Mr. and Mrs. Bob Nympho, in which case (a) this explains all of their wanton behavior, and (b) best wedding announcement ever. House demands, "Go search her." Cameron asks if he means her medical records, and he says that if that's what he meant, he probably would have said that. And then there's a dawning moment for Cameron as well: "You think she's poisoning him." House says that Bob should be getting better, but that he's not, which prompts Cameron to helpfully narrow down the action: "So either she's poisoning him or it's not heavy metals." She says that they've done ten heavy metal tests, and House argues that that shouldn't preclude them from doing the other thirty. Cameron tells him that she won't let his paranoid fantasy make her accuse a woman of attempted murder. But House is sure that no other explanation exists. Cameron disagrees. House asks whether Bob has responded to the lupus treatment, and when Cameron answers in the negative, House tells us once again that it's not lupus (it's not): "It's not allergies, ALS, arthritis, or sarcoidosis. She's all that's left." Or it could be lupus.