Courrier du Tyra! Courrier du Tyra! Again. The French postal service...is there anything it can't do? "Tonight, I will join you for dinner. Join me in the lobby at 7 PM." Adrianne notes that she's been wearing the same underwear for forty-eight hours, and changes in front of the other girls with the enormous non sequitur, "You don't have to be a lesbian to change in front of your friend." Thank you, Adrianne, for this logic culled from a page ripped from a word-a-day calendar floating in the debris piles after a Pride Parade. Elyse sits on her bed reading a French For Dummies (Though Not Really Dummies, Elyse, As We've Heard You're Very Smart, And We Should Really Consider Shortening The Title Of This Language Primer Book If We Wanted To Sell More Copies) book, as Adrianne asks her how to say "Adrianne has enormous cha-chas" and "Elyse, how bad does your cooch smell?" And, no. Sorry, but I have tremendous tolerance for, y'know, gruff talk, but I myself had written a very long joke about French cheese and its relation to Adrianne's forty-right-hour-long wardrobe, and then I deleted it wholesale because, apparently, I am far more of a lady than she will ever be. Robin agrees, telling us that she looks like a reproving teacher at Adrianne when she says crass things, and Elyse laughs and tells us that Adrianne deliberately tries to piss off Robin and that it's "great for [Elyse] to watch." Except Robin doesn't use the word "reproving." Ever.

Tyra meets the girls at a French restaurant and tells them that she loves this town more than any town else. She regales them with a story about what it was like to come here for the first time, adding that she's sorry about the size of their room, but that the rest of the hotel was completely taken up with Jay Manuel's Napoleon complex.

Courrier du Tyra! Courrier du Tyra! They deliver constantly! And there's never a day off because they don't have to close on Sundays because the French hate religion! They do. I read it in Vanity Fair. Just kidding. I skipped it in Vanity Fair. Anyway, for some reason they let Kesse read the Tyra Mail, and she does. Sort of: "Tomorrow morning will be your first...what?" Awwww. Kesse doesn't know the word "Parisian." She finds it to be a -- how do you say -- mot d'éléphant. And so it continues: "Photo shoot." That night, everyone lies in bed, except for Robin, and Elyse tells us that everyone was very tired when they finally got back to the hotel. After the other girls are all in bed, Robin grabs a hairdryer and sets to task, but I guess the girls know they can blame Tyra because Tyra said it was her fault. ["I seriously don't know how Robin managed to escape that night without getting that blow dryer shoved up her ass. Sideways. I mean, sure, she took a shower, but they're going to a shoot tomorrow where they'll presumably do her hair, so she couldn't just sleep on it wet when four other people were trying to sleep? What an asshole." -- Wing Chun]