Okay, so next we see Ruthie dancing to Eric Clapton in the twins' room. I'm not going to make fun of the way she moves, because she's just a little kid. They're making her dance to a dinosaur of rock, and she's having fun with it. Good for her. The twins stare abjectly into space. Robbie comes in and starts dancing, too. I can make fun of him. He looks like my dad used to when he would get drunk and dance and embarrass the living hell out of me. "I didn't know you could dance!" Ruthie tells him. And she still doesn't. The whole rest of the CamFam bursts in and watches for a while. Robbie shuts off the bitchin' Hello Kitty stereo. The Stepford Camdens explain that Mary's on the phone. Ruthie asks if she's in jail. The phone is handed to Robbie, and everyone files out so they can pretend to give him some privacy before they start asking him for all the details of his conversation. Before Mary can confess to Robbie, he tells her all about the girl he met in the park and how she looked so much like Mary. Plus, she's at college on a basketball scholarship and she's really smart and charitable and her toothbrush is made of gold. Or something. "So she's me but a better me? I'm sorry -- what part of this is funny?" Mary asks. The funny part is that I'm watching a show this lame without being in a room full of people who just got stoned, Mary. Yeah, I know -- I'm not laughing, either. We find out that Mary's Doppelganger is named Marie. Mary gets mad and hangs up on Robbie.
Robbie finds fresh-from-the-shower Matt in the hall. Instead of making out like you know they want to do, the two of them engage in insipid conversation about Mary. Then Robbie goes off alone to call Mary back. Her line's busy, because she's on the phone with Wilson. Wilson, who looks like a Battlestar Galactica reject with his winged dark hair, wants Mary to have dinner at his place so he won't have to find a sitter for his kid. "You're still crazy about spaghetti with meat sauce, aren't you?" he asks. That line is so pointless that I decide to pretend it's a euphemism for something having to do with sex. But even so, it's a lame, pointless one, so I decide to slog through the rest of the episode mirthlessly instead. As Mary smiles and hangs up, her top lip looks swollen, as if she's suffering an allergic reaction. She leaves the room, and then the phone rings. The sad, sad clarinet plays while Robbie dials and redials the phone from the Camden stairwell. Who can feel sorry for someone dumb enough to care about Mary? I can't, although I can't say that I've ever tried, either.