Robin is unconscionably rude to the driver ("Me keep-y this-a," she grandly and charmingly informs him in "French" when he tries to carry her bag), but Shannon actually ends up giving him the direction he can understand. Adrianne tells us how "awe-struck" she was by the beauty of Europe, and Kesse agrees that it's nicer than Arkansas because once there was a town called Hope but everyone's gone from there now. Robin wonders, "I expected to see people on boats with the violins" because she thought, I guess, that they were going to Venice. Elyse had already been in Paris once when she was fifteen. Oh, of course she had.
Hotel des Deux Acacias. It's not that nice. Adrianne is the only person I know who can call the hotel "a hole in the wall" and mean it in a good way. They navigate their own suitcases up a narrow staircase and enter their room: bare walls, three beds, and the only piece of flair a piece of Tyra Mail reading, "Hi, girls. This is where you'll be living in Paris. Find a place to put your things and select a bed." Elyse suggests that they draw straws to see who's on the floor, and we cut to each of them pulling names out of a hat. That's not "drawing straws." Has any of these girls seen Clue? Kids today. Kesse chooses her own name, and Shannon, Elyse, and Adrianne each get a bed as well. Wait. I thought there were three beds. So Robin has to sleep on an air mattress by one account and the floor by another. Continuity be damned, Robin wants us to know how damn flexible she is: "Miss Kesse did offer to share her bed with me, but I'm not so special where I can't sleep on the air mattress." You are, Robin. And you just said that so I would say that.
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.