Manor, that evening. Piper's in the kitchen dicing some herbs when Prue comes roaring in from the dining room. Piper stammers that she thought Prue had a date with Andy as Phoebe yodels from the hall that the spell calls for cayenne pepper rather than the black variety. Phoebe stops short in fear when she barrels through the door to find Prue tapping her nails on the kitchen counter. Piper babbles out an explanation for their intended actions, nattering about how every spell is in the Book for a reason, and this particular spell provides a perfect opportunity for the gals to test their powers because, after all, why would the Book specifically state that the spell can be reversed at any time if they weren't meant to use it and she really needs to get laid so could Prue just please please please back off and let them cast it? Huh? Phoebe stares at Piper for a moment, then turns to Prue to deadpan, "I can translate." The screen wipes with appropriate swooshing sound effects to land on Prue, sitting at the kitchen table, bitching, "You have got to be kidding." Heh. Cheap, yes, but heh nevertheless. Piper reveals that they were hoping Prue would join them. Prue begs off, as she has enough complications in her life that can be pinned on the Y-chromosome, thank you very much. Phoebe and Piper dart off to the attic as Prue snorts, "Be careful what you wish for!"

Attic. Kit -- hi, Kit! -- meows and glares from his majestic perch behind some lit candles. Piper and Phoebe sit on the floor beside the low table and read each other's "Perfect Man" wish lists aloud. It's so like a game of Mystery Date that I want to vomit, but you all want to know what they're wishing for, don't you? Sigh. Piper's list reads, "I want a man who is single, smart, and employed. A man who loves sleeping in on Sunday, sunset bike rides, cuddling by a roaring fire, and late night talks. A man who loves love as much as I do." Phoebe wants "the sexy, silent type that finds you driving through town on the back of a Harley at three o'clock in the morning. A man who appreciates scented candles, body oils, and Italian sheets. He's about hunger, and lust, and danger, and even though you know all this and he will never meet your friends or share a holiday meal with your family, you can't stay away. And, he recycles." All of that was [sic], by the way. The ladies also make a joke about their supposed paramours' respective endowments. Now, because I've watched TV before in my lifetime, I know neither of the gals is going to find one man who possesses all of her specified qualities. Nope. Each is going to find an army of men, and each of those men will embody a single characteristic from the list, and every single one of these gentlemen will fall instantly, dangerously in love with the P to whom he's been assigned. And unless Connie Burge yanks some novel way of presenting this subplot out of her ass, it's all going to be so very tedious. Piper flips to the entry in question and is surprised by its contents. Phoebe giggles that, as women, they have it easy as far as the spell goes. "If we were men looking for women," she reveals, "the spell requires putting a piece of honey cake in a sweaty armpit for days." I think I've met guys who would be into that sort of thing. In any event, the gals drop a satchel containing their wish lists into a copper pot at the center of the table, link hands, and recite the following twice: