Meanwhile, Bizarro Nora is in wrapped in her requisite Navajo-inspired bathrobe. In case you were concerned, this time Carl is wearing a bathrobe, too. Nora is whining about the cold and the tourists and the gift shops and the lying guidebook. Carl just sits there and nods patiently, probably wishing that he had stayed home and wasn't trapped in the middle of nowhere with an extremely whiny lady. Nora then kicks the whine up to eleven and starts milling about the room shrieking that her kids haven't called her once and she is an addict and a vampire and her kids hate her and she has ruined them and why haven't they called her yet? Don't they love her? Why don't they love her? Don't they need to know where the jell-o mold is? Has she just been sucking the life out of them for years? After five minutes of ranting and rending of bathrobes and lunging at the fireplace to douse herself in ashes, Carl does the best thing under these circumstances: He pulls out a pill and doses her. Nora passes out on the bed. Carl heads to the bar.

Meanwhile, all is dark at Walker Manor, but something is stirring and it's not a mouse. It's Kitty! She is searching for Santa's Village, but Kevin catches her. He lunges for the train set that runs through Santa's Village. They face off. Kevin reminds her that without the train, Santa's Village is nothing, but Kitty reminds him that argument works two ways. Kevin tells Kitty that he is sick and tired of no one accepting that he and Scotty are a "real" family. Gay card, played! Kitty rejoinders that Nora couldn't be more queer friendly if she twirled a baton up Santa Monica Boulevard in a Cher costume. Kevin looks miffed and then, wait for it: Kitty plays the widow card. She fake tears up as she reminds Kevin that she a) has a son and b) has to remind said son that Christmas will continue even without daddy. Kevin doesn't fall for it. So they do the only logical thing: Have Christmas at Walker Manor. Wait, no, that's not what they decide at all. They do the only logical thing in Walkerlandia: Decide to have separate Christmases. Then they tussle over the boxes and run out of the house. Sometimes I really hate these people.