Lynette's kids are at Bree's house. The boys are coloring at the table. They have trouble coloring in the lines, it turns out. In fact, they have trouble staying on the paper. Lots of kids are spazzy like that, but Lynette's kids are coloring with a kind of kinetic rage that speaks to years of therapy on the horizon. Bree floats into the room. She is wearing an apron and there is a sheet of fresh-baked cookies cooling on the counter beside her. The cookies are perfectly round and evenly spaced. The whole scene looks like an alluring ad for time travel. I want to live in that space-time continuum! And have Bree hair! Porter is trying to sneak a cookie. Bree warns him that the cookies are hot and he could burn himself, then turns her attention to the other children and informs them that "pictures are prettier if you color inside the lines." (For some reason this reminds me about how a teacher once called my mother in for a conference about how I had colored a picture of fried eggs entirely black, and when asked why, I had told the teacher simply that the eggs were "burnt," which my mother dismissed as "perfectly sensible" to the teacher.) The kids resume their fists-of-fury-style coloring technique, and Bree sighs, "Well, I guess art is subjective," and strokes one of the P's head with affection. Then she notices that Porter is still messing with the cookies. He's using a spatula this time (so clearly he heard Bree's burn-scare warning). It is the exact same red plastic spatula with a metal handle that I own! TWINS! Bree scolds Porter again, Porter claims that his persistence is coming from a place of extreme starvation. Bree offers to fix him a very nice bowl of peaches and cottage cheese. "EW, barf!" Porter says. You sing it, sister. I think cottage cheese is the very worst, like cellulite for your mouth. ["It's really good if you mix it with hot salsa and put it on crackers. Of course, you could just skip the cottage cheese there, but anyway." -- Sars] "Don't be COMMON, young man!" Bree is such a throwback. She warns him that if he messes with the cookies one more time, she's going to spank him. One of the Ps informs her that they don't get spanked. Bree lets out a shocked "Really?" "Mommy always says she's gonna," Porter says, "but she never does." "Well," Bree informs them, "I am not your mommy, and if you misbehave in my house," she clucks Porter under the chin, "you will get spanked. So be good." Bree turns to check on the baby. And kerclunk! What's that? A cookie sheet hitting the deck? Bree turns to find all the cookies on the floor. "It was an accident," Porter lies. "Porter, I warned you!" "I'm sorry, I'll be good!" Too little, too late, Porter, because "Those cookies were...made...from...SCRATCH!" And with that, Bree takes Porter over her knee and gives him an old-school spanking. The other Ps look on with eyes bugged as we hear SWAT and "ow," SWAT and "ow," SWAT and "ow."