P3. The usual gang of two-drink-maximum idiots clamors at the entrance while Piper, Phoebe, Raige, The Sole, and the Dolt cluster around a set of low, translucent, drum-shaped tables down near the dance floor. The diffused glow from the tabletops casts soft, foot-lit shadows across the faces of the gang. Piper's been making a positive change with all the redecorating at the nightclub, it would seem. Raige toasts, "To marriage!" and the five clink their various beverages together. The Sole has a beer, Piper and the Dolt enjoy gin and tonics, and Phoebe and Raige stupidly toast yet again with Perrier-brand bottled water. Heartache and tears, ladies. Heartache and tears. Phoebe gnaws on The Sole's earlobe as the two slump back into their sofa. "Hey!" Piper pouts. "This is supposed to be our anniversary," indicating herself and the Dolt. There's Dolt bloat going on across the guy's face, by the way. It looks like he sat out in the sun two hours too long, and now his skin is swelling from the ultraviolet overexposure. Maybe Piper better rethink those luminous coffee tables. Low sources of light can be terribly unflattering when you're the Dolt. As The Sole dives down into Phoebe's neck, Phoebe mumbles, "To Piper and [the Dolt's] marriage -- may ours be as successful as theirs." "Yeah," Piper deadpans. "That still didn't sound like it was about us." The Sole slides his hand up Phoebe's thigh, and she giggles wildly as they neck. Piper and the Dolt mack away on their own sofa. Raige glances back and forth uneasily, more than a bit nauseated. Word, Raige. Love your look, though. Her hair falls about her face and shoulders in soft curls, and the Jungle Red lipstick for once does her pale complexion a favor. Raige's simple, off-the-shoulder dress is an early-eighties Studio 54 throwback that she wears well, despite the fact that its pallid yellow tone is several shades too light for her coloring. After an awkward pause, Raige rises to excuse herself. Personally, I would have bolted for the bar to down several shots in quick succession as soon as The Sole jammed his hand into Phoebe's nether regions, but I suppose Raige has a stronger stomach than I do. The Sole yanks his hand out of Phoebe's lap and protests that Raige can't leave before "the good part." I'm not gonna go there. Make your own family-that-plays-together joke. Ew.
Raige sighs and eases herself back into her chair, snarking something about watching the gruesome foursome make out all evening. Phoebe apologizes for her inexcusable behavior, and there's a bit of banter about Phoebe taking to marriage as well as Piper promised she would. Basically, this snippet of conversation serves only to set up the primary conflict of the evening: Entangled as they are in wedded bliss, the gruesome foursome can't keep their hands off each other, and Raige is getting sick of it. Join the club, sweetie. We're not seventy seconds into the episode, and I'm already disgusted by the pawing and the giggling and the groping and the heedless exchange of bodily fluids. Little did I know the first time through this scene how much more distressing it would all become before the end of the hour. "So...the good part?" Raige prompts. The Sole leaps to his feet to retrieve an envelope from his bag on the floor. Without rinsing his hand first. He passes the envelope to Piper and the Dolt. "Oh, my God!" Piper breathes, silently scanning the pamphlet she finds therein. The Sole wags his filthy hand around dismissively and claims, "It's nothing." "It's 'The Finest Hotel in Hawaii,'" the Dolt counters, clearly reading the promotional copy from the pamphlet's face. I mean, could you identify the finest hotel in Hawaii simply by reading its name from a flyer? Didn't think so. The Sole "just didn't think it was right" that Piper and the Dolt "never got a honeymoon." Phoebe coos in admiration at her man's romantic and generous ways.