And just when I get to hating this show, they throw in a zany pratfall: CreePaul goes to leave his house and does a total cartoon-banana-peel slip and cracks his lower back soundly on the flagstones. And, try as I might to hold onto my pout, I laugh. Dear Excruciating, Cracked-Ass Pain in Others: You sure are hilarious. Dear Desperate Housewives: Damn you! Why won't you let me hate you? Slowly, CreePaul creaks himself into a sitting position, and as he does, he notices that his stoop is covered in some kind of slick substance. Just then, crazy Felicia calls out from her post in front of her house: "Paaaaaul?" And she really does sound shrewish and nuts, and about ten times louder than she needs to be, considering that she's standing like twenty feet away, max. Felicia is also stirring up some cookie dough in a bowl. Still sounding kind of dazed, CreePaul tells her that "there's shortening on [his] doorstep." And I know I've said this so many times before, but..."and not in a sexy way." Felicia: "SHORTENING! THAT'S THE LAST THING YOU'D WANT ON YOUR PORCH. IT'S MEANT FOR BAKING!" CreePaul gives Felicia's cookie-dough-stirring arm a sharp look. Once it's clear he's caught her drift (i.e. she's the one who greased up his entryway, so filthy), she smiles hugely at him, and heads back inside. Just imagine how much VAGINA Felicia will be able to buy with all those cookies.