Yoanna walks right across the room to a gentleman she identifies as "Nicolo," and goes in for the kill with this surefire pickup line: "Do you have an MP3 player?" Is there a follow-up line of the "because you've been running through my head all day" variety? Should we write one? Okay, I'll propose this: "Well then, how about we make your iPod into a wePod?" And so they do, when Nicolo accompanies Yoanna into her bedroom, where they listen to some tunes, Nicolo bites her arm, and, per Yoanna, "something clicked." They close the door and the cameras come hard-charging, which causes Yoanna to become embarrassed and be all death to smoochy. The whole damn group piles on the bed, and suddenly we're in a hot tub featuring everyone but one guy and April. Until...well, here comes April. And she's brought with her...a strained phallic metaphor: "These girls, self included, have been like monkeys in a cage. And you drop big bananas inside. Of course they're gonna tear the peels off." And you know who really looks like she can use some quick doses of potassium in her diet? That's right. Shandi.
So if Shandi's the one finally getting some action, why is it the ANTM producers who are having all the wet dreams? Because, man, this is some television right here. This is the moment that gives license for any story editor to stand up, step back, make that "I wipe my hands clean of the whole affair" stage direction, and let the rest of the sequence play out in real time. It's like found art. And it's gorgeous. Shandi is lying in the hot tub, her 20/20 hindsight confessional reminding her that this might not be the best idea in the world. But the wheels and the peels are in motion, and it's too late. April remembers that Shandi has a boyfriend. Mercedes remembers that Shandi has a boyfriend. Yoanna remembers that Shandi has a boyfriend. Shandi's boyfriend remembers that he wants a boyfriend. Wheels. Peels. In motion.
The bell literally tolls next for she, as we hear a clanging bell tower announce the death knell of innocence. The guys leave the house and leave their numbers that no one's even going to use (you can see the look of "what the hell is 011?" splashed across Yoanna's face, here in the sane light of sobriety). My friend and I turn to each other and ask somewhat quizzically though not actually angrily, "Was that it?" as we take the walk of shame from the dining-room table to the bottle of red wine, stumbling once as we go and glad we decided to stick with charades instead. (My answer was "Fellini.") You know who's not happy? Shandi. She tells us in a confessional that she was unable to control herself, and in real time she sits on her bed, wailing. WAILING. Unable to speak. Except to say "I want to die." The other models all climb onto the bed with her, April's nightie mooning itself toward the camera, making her accidentally cheat on her boyfriend with me.