Annie shows up at the pool hall and finds her husband sitting at a tiny table with more food, as if he didn't just almost have a hot five-way with the skanky pool bunnies. Eric and Annie admit that they're each a tiny bit jealous of the other, and that it's nice to get the mack action from people stupid enough to find them attractive. In fact, Annie actually says, "I was maybe flirting a little, too, in an I'm-a-wife, mother-of-seven-children-but-it-still-boosts-my-ego-when-another-man-finds-me-attractive sort of way." I'm not even going to make fun of that, because I know where she's coming from. Maybe if I lose some weight, put on some iridescent eye shadow, get two degrees, and have four more kids, guys will want to buy me lasagna. Hell, who am I kidding? I'd be happy if I could get single straight guys to look me in the eye while being introduced to me at parties.
Annie tells Eric she's anxious to get to bed. It takes him a while to realize that she's coming on to him. That's nice, I suppose, but I hope it takes place completely off screen.
Matt's still dancing with the girl in red. Looking into her eyes makes him remember that he was supposed to drive Simon to the movies. He pulls a Cinderella, telling her to call him, and runs out the door. She chases him, saying, "Matt! I don't have your number." "You don't have my number? How could I not give you my number?" he asks, and then starts kissing her audibly. Damn, that's smooth. Right then, his parents emerge from the pool hall, which happens to be right next door. He sees them, makes his goofy face, and then writes his number on the napkin Mystery Girl is holding. She takes off right before the CamRents accost Matt. He tells them he'll go to the CamPound posthaste to apologize to Simon. They ask him to check up on the kids. He asks where they'll be, then thinks the better of it and drives away. The CamRents decide to get a room. Annie moans and they smoosh their foreheads together. Gack.
Frankie goes to throw Ruthie's pizza in the oven. Johnny asks what kind of beer Mary wants. "Um. I don't know. Something light," she says as the wary music starts again. Okay, how silly is this? All she has to say is, "No, dude, for real. I don't want one, but thanks." Cate and I were talking a while back about the myth of peer pressure that gets perpetuated by 7th Heaven and Nancy Reagan. Have you ever in your life been to a social gathering where people tried to force you to drink or do drugs? I haven't. I can't even imagine it. Someone offers me a joint. I say, "No, thanks." It gets passed on to someone who wants it. No one has ever said to me, "C'mon. Just one toke. Just try it. You'll like it. C'mon, Gwen. Just one drink. What are you, a sissy? Are you chicken? C'mon. I spent a lot of money on these drugs and this liquor, and you're not leaving my house until you partake of it under threat of physical violence, damn it!" All you have to say is "No, thanks," and that's enough. If it's not, it's because you're trapped in an episode of 7th Heaven and if that's the case, I can't help you. Call your agent.