Mmmm...carrots are the same color as Cheez-Its. Sort of.
But NotMom isn't done with the questioning just yet. Whoa, no. "Could you be a Mr. Mom?" Charlie looks around. "Fine," his eyes seem to say. "Just as long as I don't have to be a Multiplicity later on." What he actually does is give some lilting speech about how a woman's place is on the Miami Heat dance floor, and he thinks that "marriage is a partnership," and women can make as much money as they damn well please. In a hilarious rebuttal, HRWEG makes a joke about wanting to see Charlie's tax forms. Oooh, take that, IRS. Burn.
HRWEG stops the action with a weirdly toneless "Ding ding ding ding ding," announcing that they've reached a portion of dinner called "the option round." Sensing a total lack of Whammies and a road paved only with Big Bucks, Charlie laughs confidently as HRWEG explains that in this round Charlie has "the option" (geddit? GEDDIT?) of asking any of them a question. Charlie does, opening it up to the floor and requesting information about Trista she might not have divulged. NotMom is all show-don't-tell, pissing off Trista to deadly serious "YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER"-esque apoplexy with her suggestion that she show him a photograph of her. "She knows how much I hate that picture," Trista tells us in interview. We cut to Charlie gazing upon a typically dorky photograph (not "typically" for Trista, but for adolescence in general) of a young, flat, smiling-through- a-mouthful-of-metal Trista wearing a bridesmaid's dress (at what I'll imagine is at HRWEG's wedding to NotMom) and holding a bouquet of flowers. Meh. I've seen worse. I've posed for worse. And the dress never fit me half as well (despite our nearly identical body types at whatever age Trista was in that picture), I can tell you that much. Everyone chokes a forced laugh, Trista because she's being humiliated, HRWEG because it wasn't his idea, and Trista's mom because she's clearly thinking, "Any excuse to show them all pictures that prove he's not mine anymore, you troll."
"I got the one," Trista's half-sista chirps from the brink of irrelevance. What one? What's this one? What? Hello? Ruzzah ruzzah? Potatoes potatoes potatoes potatoes? Pipe down, y'all! "The one" refers to a question they put in the bowl and then reconsidered. So obviously it's hot! Let's hear it from Half-Trista's mouth: "Besides your face, what other part of your body do you shave?" Well, doesn't everyone have a laugh about that one! Charlie reminds us that he's not "the type of guy who gets embarrassed easily," which we have already gleaned from this weekly, soul-sucking national airing of such a brazen lack of warranted humiliation. But this, seriously, is nasty: "I don't shave my chest, but I clip it with buzzers." Ew! Ew ew ew ew ew! I'm so not into hair. Oh, the thought of it. Don't y'all start some big forum war about "bears" versus whatever is the opposite of bears, because I don't want to know. I just don't dig no outer coating on my man. Thank goodness Charlie keeps going! "I have very hairy...like sweater vest by Darwin if I don't do it." Darwin's all, "Who, me?" What an unlikely evocation of his name. Anyway, you just watched Charlie jump right into sharksville. Whammy! Because that is gross, and yet defying my will it continues still. Good thing they're dining under the Gateway Arch, because it's clear that the pioneering spirit through which its architect symbolically welcomed America westward has displayed itself in Charlie's unwavering Manifest Chestiny.