Lynette comes home in the middle of the day, all "job, what job?" She is wearing the cream suit -- the cream suit that she promised Tom that she'd return. Tom is mad, mad, mad. She explains that she couldn't face going into a room full of Armani suits with, she says, "two-year-old breast milk crusted on my lapel." You mean Lynette got a new job but didn't get her suits dry-cleaned? That is kind of ew. Tom doesn't seem moved by this argument. So Lynette tells him that she actually "kicked ass" in the meeting because of the suit. The suit is magical! The suit gives her powers to kick ass! He asks her why she is so obsessed with this suit, but she says itis an obsession, which by its very nature can't be explained. Tom spits that they are "parents and can't afford the luxury of obsessions." And that's when Lynette walks over to the trunk and busts out her trump card: a fancy, fancy set of golf clubs. For Tom! Lynette: "Sometimes, we just need to get something that makes us happy. I know that sounds selfish, but I've been thinking: it might make us better people. And maybe? Even better parents." Her delivery is so smooth, so polished here, clearly the suit is working! Tom tries to balk, but she puts a club in his hand and whispers "carbon fiber shafts" in his ear. He takes one swing with the club, and suddenly he is transformed. Tom: "Wow. I feel like a better parent already." And goodbye to the kids' college funds!
George and Bree are at dinner; she's wearing a dazzlingly shiny deep turquoise top. She's very chipper, all caught up in talk about "going horseback riding," but George is sullen and reserved, staring as he is at the freaky couple sitting across from them in the restaurant, totally making out. Bree notices his distraction and puts her hand on his, which he pulls away. She asks him what's wrong, and he says he just doesn't think they should risk Bree getting another rash. She looks a little stung by his rejection (all according to the plan!), and George uses that moment to dig into his pocket and pull out the bottle of "antihistamines" he brought. She willingly takes some, what with George reassuring her that they're totally fine with wine.
Cut to Bree being walk-carried by George across the hotel lobby. The same persnickety, disapproving hotelier is there, wondering, again, if everything is okay? George tries to laugh it off, with an explanation of a little "too much wine," but Bree slurs that she thinks it was the "annahismeens."