Anyway, after the song about pitching lonely women off the roof and after watching the sun rise over the Golden Gate Bridge, we eventually manage to end up at the late Skye's fabulous apartment building. The deceased is artfully splayed across her bed in her nightgown. Darryl narrates the relevant particulars of her brief life and mysterious death. "The coroner says it's as if she fell off a twenty-story building," he notes, as Andy grimaces and takes it all very personally. I won't even bother asking how the coroner could make such an assessment when they haven't even moved the goddamned body off the freaking bed yet, because this isn't C.S.I. or Law & Order and I should damn well know better by now. "But we're inside an apartment, on the ground floor, and her body hasn't been moved," Andy enumerates with disbelief. For my part, I can't believe a cocktail waitress in San Francisco could afford to live in that spacious one-bedroom in that fabulous building with that stunning view of the Transamerica Pyramid through her bedroom windows, but then again, this is a show produced by Aaron Spelling about witches. What I should be doing is turning off my damn brain.
We get a lovely close-up of the deceased's blank, glazed eyes, and then it's over to Halliwell Manor. Up in the sun porch, Piper's exercising along with a video while Prue slumps in a chair, examining the video's box. "I give up," Piper grunts. "Two weeks, and nothing's strengthened but my temper." Vi. Brator. "You didn't read the fine print," Prue smirks. "See, it says right here," she continues, pointing at the box. "'Nineteen ninety-five for the video and twenty grand for the plastic surgeon.'" I would love it if Alyssa Milano entered on that line, but unfortunately, she doesn't. Instead, Piper groans about how the exercise video's hostess is desired by every man in America and it's not fair because she'll never look like the woman in the video and suck it up and shut it because you're boring me, sweetie. Though the idea that this is all a veiled reference to Teen Steam does make me somewhat giddy. Prue explains that everyone wants what they can't have, which is why the Glamorous Ladies need to stop wasting their time trying to figure out what men want, and start trying to figure out what they want in their men. Um. Wait. No, I'll rewind to make sure I got that right. Yeah, that's virtually verbatim. Uh. Okay, honey, that makes no sense. If everyone wants what they can't have, that means your lists of the qualities you'd find desirable in your mates will consist of characteristics and attributes possessed by gentlemen who won't give any of you the time of day. My brain hurts. Phoebe finally enters at this point with a bowl of cereal to announce that she wants a guy who's "lots of fun [with] lots of heat and no strings attached." Slut. Whore. Slut-whore. Piper wants "romance, long kisses, late-night talks, [and] candlelight," and adds, "I'd take what Prue has in a flat second." Yeah, get in line, you whiny sow. Prue counters that all is not sweetness and light between herself and Mr. Trudeau, because of that whole lying-about-her-bitchcraft thing she constantly has to do with him. Prue and Piper gaze bleakly at each other. Phoebe shovels more shredded wheat into her maw.