It's morning in San Francisco. An interminable opening travelogue is underscored by an abominable alterna-testicle crooning, "Somehow you get through to me something I aspire to be -- somehow you make sense of what does not." Just in case that anvil missed your head, as the shot fades over to the Manor, the alterna-testicle wails, "If there's a muuuuuse I'm missing, it would be youuuuu, no question." The wailing comes to an mercifully abrupt end as the scene shifts to the kitchen. Piper pours herself a mug of the dregs from the coffee pot as she engages in some business-related chat on the cordless with "Bev." Phoebe hustles in and snatches the mug from Piper's hand. Were that my mug of coffee, Phoebe would be sporting a size-ten bootprint on her ample derriere right about now. Piper's far more forgiving than I am, unfortunately. She merely snits a bit after hanging up the phone, then joins Phoebe at the table. Upon Phoebe's inquiry as to Cole's whereabouts, Piper reveals he left early to run an unspecified errand. Chatter about Phoebe and Cole's "big date" follows. Sadly, the date did not meet Phoebe's expectations, as Cole "kept talking about demonic factions the whole time." Piper decides the reason for this is Cole's inability to communicate with Phoebe now that the whole rejected marriage proposal issue is out there in the open, being ignored. Chatter about the whole rejected marriage proposal issue, wherein Piper restates her opinion that relationships do not survive such rejections and Phoebe restates her opinion that her rejection of Cole has no bearing on her relationship with him. Whatever. We heard all of this in the last episode. After urging Phoebe to speak once more with Cole about the whole tiresome kerfuffle -- and won't that be a fun scene when it finally arrives -- Piper rises to exit. She has a meeting with Bev at P3 to discuss a "corporate party" Bev plans to hold. "Big money. Total nightmare," Piper notes. You have no idea, Piper. I'd regale you with tales of division heads dressed as Santa, dead drunk at three in the afternoon and groping anything in a skirt -- account executives, waitresses, secretaries, colleagues' wives -- but I've been trying to scour the memories from my mind for too many years to dredge up the precise details in all their horror. I think you get the idea.