Of course, now she has to take this to Tom, who is going to get shitty about it with a quickness. It's a funny little thing with Lynette, because she's motivated mostly by being a naturally suspicious and judgmental person, but then her paranoia is always right, so she's like this Cassandra That Cried Wolf. Tom's like, "So the old thing likes hand cream? You like hand cream, does that mean you're fucking crazy, too?" She makes a big, resentful list of all the nutty things Allison's been doing, and of course to Tom it sounds like her usual MO -- which is, after all, making big, resentful lists.
"No, this time it's different! Just like every time, I shall eventually be vindicated!" Just once, Tom thinks, I'd like to be the one who patronizingly crushes your worldview and ends up getting a tearful thanks. But not today. Nobody's comin' after Momma today. "She's away from home," Tom illogically explains: "She isn't used to all this chaos." The chaos is in her mind! Lynette, sensitively, does not say. Although what she does say, with a condescending little hair-ruffle, is in some ways barely better:
"Okay, I get it. She's your mom, and you love her, and you can look for an excuse for every one of these things. But I think there's more going on here than just her being a little forgetful." It's a nice twist on the whole Tom/Lynette thing, which is that she's so Forest she drops stitches and goes insensitive, while he's so Trees that he gets his feelings hurt all the time and can't remember -- or string together patterns from -- events in even the recent past. So what she is saying is exactly right -- a syndrome is a collection of symptoms -- but all Tom ever sees are symptoms. And she knows that, because all she ever sees are syndromes, he's under no obligation to believe her.
After a sleepless night of wondering if the obviously true thing could possibly be true, Tom decides to broach the concept of senile dementia over breakfast. It's sad. His mom's like, "I'm not scattered, but thanks for worrying. Remember all these minute details of your childhood and how you hated summer camp and called me on the phone?" Of course, things take a turn for the weird: It seems she didn't really put his puppy on the phone, just barked a couple of times. Then she demonstrates what that was like. An elderly woman at your breakfast table, barking like a dog, in her housecoat. Yeah, she's doing great.
Tom points out to the creeping, eavesdropping Lynette that everything is clearly fine. Lynette, though, has been visiting with her version of Dr. Feelgood, WebMD, and has learned about this thing "sundowning" where people with dementia sometimes only get confused at night. That is very scary and something I didn't know, so thanks for that horrible concept in my head, show. Tom turns it around on Lynette, pointing out that she's wanted Allison out of the house since she showed up.