Mike opens the door, and is less than thrilled to find an entire nation of people on his doorstep. Susan whiningly demands that he back her up, but he is in no backing-up mood! He scoffs that CreePaul said no such thing, and that Mrs. Huber kept no such diary! Susan looks crushed, but Mike brushes past her and heads off to work. And, once again, the entire neighborhood thinks Susan's gone around the bend. Edie: "Well, someone might as well say it: Susan, what the hell have you been smoking?"

Lynette comes home with $3000 worth of fancy suits. Mr. Mom Tom is not amused. She tries to win him over with how very FINE she looks in the most expensive one of the bunch, a cream-colored flirty thing with a kicky little hem and a $900 price tag. And while it is a very flattering suit (if a little tight across the chest and hip region), it's hard to imagine anything less practical for someone with eight million kids and a limited budget. Maybe something that a person could, say, sit down in without necessitating a trip to the dry cleaners -- that might have been a little saner. Nonetheless, Lynette is clearly smitten with the suit, and I understand how sometimes these intense attractions form. Lynette does some more winking and ass-shaking in an attempt to convince Tom of how necessary the suit is, but Tom still isn't buying. His eyes are on the price tag of the twins' looming braces, and preschool for Baby Girl P, and Little Big P's math tutor. He says a bunch of stuff about "sacrifices" and "parenting," and finally, after some last-ditch pouting and panicked volunteering to tutor Little Big P on her own, Lynette gives in and agrees to return all the clothes, adding, "Could you step out for a minute, please? I want to be alone with [the white suit] for a little while."