Claire chastises Trevor for messing around with the life of a child. Trevor says he's just helping the kid. "It's what your people would call a mitzvah." Claire replies, "I'm not Jewish." Neither am I, but if I had a mikvah handy, I'd drown this episode in it, which isn't really the purpose of a mikvah, but I'd improvise, m'kay? Marshall interrupts this "banter" to tell us that Clint and Hallie's other great passion is wine.
Claire's mother, Liv (Julie Hagerty) shows up at Claire's place with her suitcases, in the wake of her breakup with recent lover and undiscovered genius playwright, Hector. Claire assures her mom that even though it doesn't feel like it right now, she'll get through it. Liv says, "I don't want to get through this. My bones love him."
Trevor shows up at PSB (think PBS) with a balloon bouquet and a cooked up story that he works for a radio station and she's won a pass to the American premiere of this year's Beaujolais, which is like so five months ago, Show. When Hallie says she never entered a contest, Trevor says it was an essay contest. Contestants wrote about someone they thought deserving, and her son wrote about her and won. They kibitz about the contest until Trevor notices a picture of Marshall, in which he was much heavier than his current, slender form, and works in this week's insider Cupid-joke about being "cherubic" in his younger days. Sigh. Hallie sings the praises of the "yoga" class Marshall found which has turned him around in every way (of course it's the boxing). Trevor takes all this in, and then gives Hallie an address for a photo op, an hour before the Beaujolais premiere. Pixie dust.
Liv is hanging out in her jammies, with rollers in her hair, watching I Love Lucy, so Claire decides to stomp on a bunch of sour grapes. About Lucy. No, really. I can't stand this, but I won't subject you to it. Anyhow, she finds out that the reason Liv has come to stay with her is that Hector is still squatting in Liv's apartment. Claire explains to Liv that adults don't give their apartments to exes, and blah blah blah poo. We jump to...