An inexplicable amount of non-time later, we're back in the living room, in the same clothes, with the same light, in the same places. KJ and TJ have made their decisions, and the men will find out what those decisions are as the video invitations arrive. And here's the first one...for Chad! Proving that it's not what you say, but the whether or not you remember the extra four digits at the end of the zip code because that's the proper way to send A LETTER, which is actually what Chad wrote. So I say give 'im the date. He pops in his tape during a confessional, in which he tells us, "I was definitely ecstatic that I was able to write Meredith a letter -- which is something I'm usually not good at -- and that her friends saw the sincerity in it." Yeah, well, girly girly girl tears will do that to a person. Meredith shows up on the screen leaning against a silvery sports car in a belle chapeau that she won in Seattle's annual Win A Date With A Phillip Pirrup Impersonator contest, telling Chad, "Let's shift things into high gear and make this an evening to remember. Hope you have your license." Oh, man. What if he didn't have his license?
If there's one thing I think about Meredith -- and there is, quite literally, only one thought I've had about Meredith, what with her static brand of negative television energy -- it's that she mumbles. It's a habit my grandmother hates, and we know how far out of her way Meredith will go to please a grandmother. When we rejoin her in the process of acting out the scripts of the last three seasons of this show, what I think is "Chad is going on the date with me today. My friends thought his was the best love letter" sounds a lot like "Chad is going on the date with me today. My friends thought he was the best love butter." Mmmm, delicious love butter. But me, I've started to switch over to non-stick "Love Pam" for all my love baking needs. It works much better than the plastic-tasting Love Margarine, and I simply won't each food that comes in sentence form like I Can't Believe It's Not Love Butter. Off she shoots in a silver Maserati, in which, we learn, she'll be picking Chad up and driving to dinner down in Newport Beach. Meredith picks Chad up at the house, and he hops in the driver's seat, pumping that thing up to an almost delirious thirty-five in a quickie shot of the dashboard. Surely no man can drive so fast without breaking the sound barrier or at least going back...to the future! Chad and Meredith drive along the ocean and park at a marina, where they meet a man in a straw hat with a red bow tied around it, a black-and-white striped shirt, and black pants. He shakes Meredith's and Chad's hands and escorts them to a nearby boat, where we learn they'll be taking a ride on a gondola. Or, as Meredith so appropriately calls it, "A gon-DO-la ride." Well, la di da. Look who majored in "Twee Boat Pronunciation" at The Prissy Institute Of European Seafaring. She thinks it's "pretty cute" that Chad had never been on a gon-DO-la, which is a concept totally foreign to her because gon-DO-la rides are actually the primary form of transportation in Portland, Oregon (for those of you who have never been there).