…we cut to a slow tracking shot through the Manor bathroom, where Piper perches on the vanity while Phoebe applies a little color to her lips. Piper examines the results in a hand mirror, raises a displeased brow, and instructs, "Okay, think 'newly single mom,' not 'two-bit hooker.'" Phoebe apologizes, explaining that she's a little distracted because of -- you guessed it -- her stoopid new power. There's some bitchery about Phoebe enduring "PMS for three sisters every month," combined with some whining about how the stoopid new power is "driving [her] crazy," before the two move on to Raige's dilemma. Phoebe knows for a fact that Raige really does want their help, despite her claims to the contrary. "That's it," Piper grunts. "I'm staying home." "Why?" Phoebe bleats anxiously. "To make sure you leave [Raige] alone." If I were her, I'd stay home simply because I wouldn't be caught dead out in public in that hideous thing she's calling a blouse. It's some gauzy camisole top that's the same exact tone as Raige's Volkswagen, and trust me: That shade of green should never be placed next to healthy human skin of any color. What's more, Piper's sporting a fully visible black bra beneath it, and the whole thing makes her look bloated around the middle. Piper, doll, do not borrow clothes from your sisters ever again. Piper hops off the sink to putter out of the bathroom, distractedly fastening an earring as Phoebe insists that Piper "get back on the dating horse." "The truth is," Piper eventually admits, "I'm a little scared. I mean, I was married to an angel, for crying out loud. Who's gonna compare to that?" Spare me the Dolt-fluffing, Piper. If I haven't bought that crap by now, I never will. Phoebe teases, "You also dated a demon [no, she didn't, unless you're counting "Greasy Stalker Dan, which I should, but I'm not], a warlock, and a ghost -- that's what you should be scared of." "Super pep talk, sis," Piper snarks as the doorbell rings. "You look beautiful," Phoebe kvells like a mother on her daughter's prom night. "Feh," Piper pffts, rolling her eyes right out of the frame. Heh.
Downstairs, Piper opens the door to greet her date, a pathetic dork who looks like a cross between Greg Kinnear and an eel. What? It's true. He's way overdone the eyebrow waxing, and now they're so far apart, they seem to be dragging his beady eyes to either side of his head. Also, his whole lower face is sort of yanked forward into a long snout with a tiny little line of razor teeth beneath it, peeking through painfully thin lips. Oh, shut up. I know what I'm talking about, and this man is an eel. Anyway, Piper and The Non-Amazing Eel Man make with the awkward small-talk as Phoebe whispers, "He really likes you! I can feel it!" from behind the door. Piper shoots a scorching side-eye at the Feebs, excuses herself for a moment, ducks out of sight to remind Phoebe to leave Raige the fuck alone, and grabs her clutch to exit the Manor. Phoebe mumbles "I will leave [Raige] alone" to herself a couple of times before collapsing internally and shrieking, "I can't! [Big Gay] Chris!" Big Gay Chris instantly orbs in with a few splotches of mud on his fetching blue t-shirt. Part Check: It's all the way back over on the left, and the overall shape of his hair closely resembles what it was at the top of the hour. "I need you to watch [your Tiny Gay Self] for me," Phoebe informs him. "No. Way!" Big Chris protests. "I don't do babies. The one-and-under crowd? Not my thing." And this is why I love him so much. As a Dolt-shaped blob of orbs coagulates beside him in the parlor, Big Chris sarcastically adds, "[The Dolt], however? Great with kids." Big Chris turns to the Dolt and pointedly sneers, "Especially his own." As Phoebe obliviously blithers on about something or other, Big Chris hisses, "You're not following me, are you?" "WhyshouldIbe?" the Dolt slurs in a drearily monotonous response. Phoebe babbles some instructions at the Dolt and races out towards the kitchen. "You get that?" Chris snots as he orbs up through the ceiling. The Dolt splutters impotently for a bit before chasing after the Feebs, insisting he can't take care of Tiny Chris, as he must "follow up on some…things," and why does Tiny Chris need a sitter, anyway? Where's Piper? Incidentally, the Dolt's scruffy, still tan, still pumped up from his summertime exertions, and not wearing flannel, but good goddamn, what the hell is up with his hair? It's like they scraped a flattened marmot off the side of I-94, gelled it up to Jesus, and plastered it onto his head. Douchebag. Phoebe drops Piper's date-bomb on the Dolt's massive blockhead and dashes off on her interfering-in-Raige's-life mission. The Dolt pouts. Shut it, idiot.