Now, we take a whirlwind tour of GenderPoliticsburgh, where some of the Koror women are having hissyfits over the presence on their island of...rats! Because, did you know that chicks don't like rats? We're totally terrified of them. We stand on chairs and go, "Eeeeeee!" We hate them almost as much as we hate math. For those of us who live alone and take care of ourselves as women of the twenty-first century are peskily wont to do, this creates a problem, as we miss days of work while people go on without us, unaware that we are trapped in our kitchens, hoping some boy will come along with a mallet or a heavy book or something so that we can return to our lives. ["Not to play into sex stereotypes, but the other day I saw one of Glark's used teabags in the sink out of the corner of my eye, and it looked like a mouse and I squealed. In my own defense, I am the house's designated murderer of all bugs and spiders, so I'm not annoyingly girly the whole way through." -- Wing Chun] ANYWAY. Janu, rocking a nifty pair of librarian glasses but kind of making me blue with her display of girlish wimposity, interviews that she saw the rats and noticed that they were "going to town." And not in the "come on, Pa, Mr. Oleson is having a sale on lamp oil" sense, either. She goes on to jump and twitter and basically make a big old girl out of herself around the fire, all while insisting that she's "not afraid of anything." Show, Janu. Don't tell. And start with less squeaking. Janu ultimately interviews that she knows it should be "mind over matter," but the long and the short of it is that rats are gross. Well, so is math, but it doesn't mean I jump when it appears. Besides, when did they all get so spoiled? First season, the appearance of a rat was like a ham sandwich strolling by, all, "Get me! I'm great with mustard!" I mean, at least it's not dog food. I love how they end this sequence with a sound effect that kind of makes you want to write them a letter gently pointing out that "rat" is not short for "rattlesnake." Rats -- tch-tch-tch-tch-tch!
As they're all settling in, night-vision Gregg says to night-vision Tom that he loves the new camp. Tom seems surprised, and Caryn takes the opportunity to suck on a big lemon and, although no one asked her, throw in the opinion that she doesn't think there could be an island worse than this. You know, whatever the opposite of knocking on wood is, that's what she just did. Caryn interviews that choosing to come to the new island was a mistake now illuminated by the wisdom of the ages, or "day," and it was a "quick decision" they didn't think through. Of course, you couldn't really think it through, since it's just a gamble of the Let's Make A Deal variety. Old camp, new camp, might be better off, might be worse off...probably doesn't matter. Furthermore, when they made the decision, they had flint, so it seemed like they'd be able to make fire, and if they had fire at the new place, Caryn wouldn't be nearly so grumpy, I guarantee. Nobody can be grumpy when she's toasting imaginary marshmallows and drinking some delicious boiled water that is, like, 85% sure not to contain plague.