Bree is lying in bed and typing out an email to Julie on her laptop. "My new school in Switzerland," the email reads, "is AWESOME." She pauses to call out to Andrew, "Do young people still say 'awesome'?" Andrew, brow furrowed: "Not so much. Try 'off the hook.'" Bree: "'Off the hook'? That doesn't even make sense!" Andrew: "Fine! Type in 'groovy,' see if I care." I like helpful, kind Andrew, but is it wrong to say that I also kind of miss the villainous, Hempy-stealing Andrew, too? And why does it all have to be so one or the other, black hat versus white hat with Andrew, vanilla or chocolate? The phone rings, and it's Danielle, calling from a nunnery three hours to the north (i.e., not Switzerland). Bree is delighted by the timing of the call, as it affords her the chance to ask whether Danielle would describe her school as "off the hook." Danielle wouldn't. She would go with a choicer selection of words, such as "crappy" and "a freaking nightmare." The camera pans back to reveal Danielle, lying on the bed in much the same position as Bree, with a matching baby-plumped stomach. Danielle begs to be allowed to come home, but Bree reiterates that Danielle is staying where she is until the baby comes, and then she sing-songingly reminds Danielle that they'll be driving up to visit her this weekend. Danielle rolls her eyes in Danielle-ian frustration and hangs up on Bree just as she's getting to the part about how she's baking Danielle's something-something squares.
Bree is sitting there, looking shocked, with the disconnected phone in her hand. Orson comes in and offers to fill up a tub for Bree, and Bree sighs a big frustrated sigh about how "lovely" it would be to take a bath. Orson helps her up, and then he helps unfasten the Velcro on the faux-baby bump that we all knew Bree was hiding as of twenty-five television minutes ago. But with the frantic way the Desperate music is thrumming, you'd think this big bump reveal was some kind of surprise or something. Orson comments that it's almost time to move up to "six-month size," and Bree sighs like this is bad news. Lady, a faux-bump is like a magical lamp! You just rub it and you instantly get a seat on the bus or a table at a restaurant. Plus it's a great spot to store secret snacks, especially chocolatey ones that benefit from getting all melty! Which raises the question: where did they get this collection of bumps -- down at the Bump and Grind (part pregnancy subterfuge supply store, part coffee shop)? -- and where can I get myself stocked up with my own set of prop bumps?