But I don't know what Susan's fucking excuse is, either. She takes some muffins over to Paul's house and grins manically like the ghoulish skellington she is, and then pretends to notice a calendar, held to the wall with a thumbtack. As usual, Paul is the only class act on this show: "I tried willing the calendar to stay up? But it just wouldn't cooperate." Susan trumps up some bullshit, you see where this is headed, and evicts both him and Virgin Suicide upstairs.
Paul points out that he has her dirty little underwear secret in his back pocket, like he's playing this legit, and she says she's already told Mike everything. I think a more salient point, Paul, would be to say, "I am fucking Paul Young. Wisteria Lane trembles at my passage. I killed a paperboy this morning just to find out what his blood tasted like."
None of this "I'm going to shock people with the knowledge that you're an airhead" nonsense, because guess what: They are aware. Why do you think Bree's always the one to cut your birthday cake? Because we all know you're gonna end up windmilling your arms -- backward, and then forward, and then right into the cake -- and we don't want you weaponized for that.
Needless to say, the more futile it gets the more confidence Susan finds in herself. So then she threatens Paul about how Mike wanted to kill him with a hammer, which she brought over just to show Paul. Which, again: "I'm Paul Young. Your husband tries to kill me at least three times every fiscal year. I know he had amnesia, lady, but what's your excuse?" She smashes a muffin with the hammer, just to make sure Paul is good and enraged, and then toodle-oos with another warning to vacate and a classy parting Susan shot about how the "raisin muffins" might actually contain rat shit. Charmed, I'm sure.
So while Paul sighs and goes down to the basement to find the best tools to murder Susan at her own ebullient request, Bree has finally gotten to see the interior of Keith's apartment. Which is gorgeous. Of course, she can't help but tell him how she was assuming she'd have to have a big fake smile because it would presumably be a crack den, because what's the point of slumming if you're not constantly telling the person, and they discuss their favorite potpourri scents. (For real.) They're about to fuck on a placemat when Keith's hot roommate Mimi walks through, and Bree goes cold. She's like "There's that fake smile! I have to notify you that I am having emotions because this is also just my actual face now."