Cut to him trudging over to the laundry machine -- only to get the living daylights scared out of him by Nicki coming on out of the laundry area. Well, to be fair, she's not dressed like an extra on Little House on the Prairie, so I can see where he'd be thrown. Nicki tells him, "My washing machine's on the fritz. Can you believe it? The party? The tablecloths alone? I should have used paper." Ben is all, "That's very nice, but would you mind leaving me and my shame alone?" Nicki asks him, "What do you want?" "Nuh-nothing," Ben stammers. Nicki rolls her eyes and says matter-of-factly, "Give 'em." Ben protests that he'll get to them later. Nicki tells him she's got plenty of room for them, and makes a move to grab them. Ben hangs on tighter, and Nicki protests, "Benny!" I like that she calls him by the diminutive; it sort of hints at their earlier history as babysitter-and-charge. She reminds him, "I did have eighteen brothers growing up." Ben finally realizes he is not going to win this round.
Sarah charges into the family room, where Barb's pinning a costume on Teeny. She's asking about borrowing the car when Barb has to take another call. It's work, and they want her to come in today. Teeny makes a disappointed face, but Barb totally misses it because she's thrilled to be called into work. Sarah sulks off.
At Henrickson's Home Plus, Don's wheeling stock through the store when he catches Bill zoning out in one of the lawn cabanas. Bill tells him he's tired. Don sits down and says conspiratorially, "People think having three wives is a walk in the park." Then don't do it. Bill tells him it's not that: "I couldn't sleep. I kept having these dreams all night...I was being chased. Home, store, all over." Gosh, it's too bad he's having these dreams right now, right on the heels of his father-in-law stalking him from home to store and all over. I'm sure that's just a coincidence. Bill gets to the creepy part: "There was this clicking sound, like fingernails clicking when you drum your fingers, following me, getting closer and closer. I can't shake it."
Don takes this all in. He and Bill are perambulatory now, and Don asks, "Are you sure it wasn't a revelation?" Bill mulls it over. Don presses on, arguing that there's plenty of historical precedent for receiving revelations through dreams, but Bill rebuts, "Mine always come in quiet premonitions." The two men walk on silently for a moment, then Don asks, "You cry?" Bill indignantly replies that he certainly did not, and Don quickly explains, "Vernie has tears streaming down her face whenever she receives testimony. And JoJo, she asks for personal revelations to show her which brands, like tuna in oil or in water. And I tell her, 'Jeepers, the Lord's not going to hear that. Use your own agency, pick whatever.' Now Peg, she's something else. She --" This is where Don notices that Bill has been making the kinds of faces most often seen on Catholic men when their mothers get started with the guilt trips. This sort of ecumenical irritation frightens and confuses Don. He retreats to, "I brought in donuts. I saved you a jelly one -- it's on your desk." Awww. We like Don!