But we're going to duck out of that conversation because: MARIE! How you doin', lady? She's at what appears to be an open house, and considering that's the episode title -- and also considering we're getting an odd close-up of a little ceramic figurine of a Hummel-type child riding a pig -- we should probably be paying attention to what goes on here. Which we would anyway, because: MARIE! She's being super sketchy, though. After a married couple take off, Marie asks the realtor -- looking like Wilford Brimley meets the rich Texan oil man from The Simpsons -- to top off her glass of wine. As she inquires about the house, and you're wondering whether she's considering moving, leaving Hank or getting into the real estate business, she also gives a fake name to Colonel Oatmeal (first name that popped into my head, let's just go with it) and claims to be divorced with a four-year-old child. So is she just being a tourist? Escaping her awful home life with Hank for an afternoon? She gets really into talking about home-schooling her gifted phantom child. You guys, we need to get a better life for Marie. I will take up a collection, if need be.
Back home, Hank nervously turns off the porno movie he's watching (hoping to stimulate his half-dead genitalia?) when Marie returns home. He's characteristically gruff and awful to her, lambasting her for buying him Fritos instead of Cheetos. I can barely remember how much I grew to like Hank last season, because he has squandered all of it now. Why don't you bid on some Cheetos on eBay, HANK? He even throws her super-nice impulse buy of a fantasy-football magazine back in her face. (I mean, yes, he's correct on the merits: fantasy magazines are useless, instantly-dated fodder for weak players who don't know how to use the Internet properly. Not to mention Cheetos' inherent superiority to Fritos. But still: give the woman points for effort, you terrible, crippled bastard of a person!) Marie finally stomps off, which is what Hank wanted in the first place. When she goes, we see she's left that little pig-boy figurine on the nightstand. Oh, Marie. Not this again.