Pee-wee soccer practice. A slender woman with fluffy hair comes up to Jack and comments on how it's "so tragic" that parents send their kids out onto the field "for one last grasp at vicarious glory." Okay, a lot of parents do that...but not with six-year-olds. And..."grasp"? Shut up, Fluffy. Fluffy introduces herself as Caroline, Molly's older sister, and explains the difference in their ages to an uncomfortable Jack, adding, "That would make me twenty-eight, in case you were wondering." Yeah, right. If Caroline's twenty-eight, I'm Strom fucking Thurmond. Dear casting director: Please require a screen test from the actresses so you don't wind up casting a woman who can remember the days before electricity as a twentysomething, m'kay? Great. Anyway, non-witty banter ensues in which Caroline learns that Jack is eighteen and that Andie is his sister and not his girlfriend, and in which she says that she's flirting with him (about as gracefully as The Dukes Of Hazzard's Uncle Jesse in a pair of toe shoes, might I add), and Jack stammers a lot and says he's "flattered, but..." Caroline talks right over him, guessing that she's coming on too strong and that Jack is shy, and there's more non-witty flirtation from Caroline, and while the actress continues to trample her own lines, not only by standing with her arms crossed over her chest in the body-language opposite of "seductive," but also by reading them in a sarcastic tone that suggests she's joking, the scene stretches out so long that time begins to bend inwards towards itself in some torturous perversion of Einsteinian principle that unfortunately does not place me on the opposite side of the universe from my VCR. Finally, moments before I become one with Big Bang theory, Caroline takes her leave, saying she'll see Jack's "sweet face" tomorrow. Jack shakes his head about a hundred times.
Cut to Gretchen and her boobs in a seventies-macramé-plant-holder-inspired brown-and-orange halter top, inspecting Dawson's latest photos and telling him that "that old man is crazy," his photos are great, blah blah blah praise-the-wunderkind-cakes. "Actually, he's right, they suck," Dawson grouses, fiddling with the telephoto lens that acts as a surrogate for his tiny, cobweb-enshrouded penis. Snapping shots of Gretchen, Dawson blathers something about how "true genius begins in mediocrity," as if he'd even attained the lofty peaks of mediocrity yet. Gretchen tells him that, while she finds modesty "preferable" to a "self-described genius" act, "even you cannot deny your abilities." No wonder Gretchen dropped out of college -- she's too dense to recognize Dawson's so-called modesty as a gambit to attract compliments. Then she tells him to stop taking her picture or she'll smack him. Skip the rationalizing and smack him anyway, Gretch. Dawson asks if he's making her uncomfortable. When she says yes, he says, "Good," and keeps snapping away. "Stop it!" she squawks, but she clearly loves it. Yuck. They sit down on a bench, and Dawson tells her that Gale's pregnant. When Gretchen nods distractedly, Dawson takes another picture of her, and Gretchen smiles uncomfortably that she "figured." Dawson says that maybe she can help him -- insert "beyond help" joke here -- and admits that, when he found out, "[he] was upset." Gretchen asks why, and Dawson says that "they're in their forties, they're about to send a kid to college, they barely have any money in the bank," the divorce, the last couple of years, blah bling blah, "it just seems...completely irresponsible." Gretchen nods, "It is." All right -- do I need to list the reasons why Dawson's "reasoning" is utterly selfish and judgmental, or why Gretchen shouldn't encourage him? No, I didn't think so.