It's gonna take 37 stitches to get Gaby's shit together, but meanwhile she's over at McCluskeys to get a Chinese menu from her (?) and try to bond with her over their love of dolls after she notes one on the shelf. "Heck, I've had her since forever. She was my best friend growing up. I couldn't bear to toss her, so there she is." Gaby's desperate to reach out and so she's all, "I didn't know you were into dolls," and of course McCluskey's like, "I'm not into dolls, I have a single doll gathering dust, and anyway-- WHOA. Where did that other doll come from?" Oh, from Gab's purse, of course.
"Her name's Princess Valerie! They could be sisters! Let's take them to the tearoom at Screamin' Meemie's Dolls & Preemies and merrily go shit-hot nuts together!" McCluskey awesomely goes, "Now usually, no. That sounds super-gay. But you are clearly heading for the motherfucking bend, and that sounds entertaining, so count me right in."
Lynette's mom admits that she's only marrying the racist because he's rich and hates his kids so she wants the money off his bad ticker, but Lynette's so used to silently judging everybody and causing riots that it's all the same to her. She would have exactly as much stick as far up her ass if he'd had a gambling program or admired Jill Zarin as a person, so the racism/prostitution thing is like, "I was already going to make this a huge fucking hassle for you anyway, so let's stick with that. You are a whore, he is a jackanapes, and I refuse to allow this marriage." Ugh, Lynette! Clean up your own yard. Just this one effing time.
Life's tough when you're as hot as Paul Young and still can't find a way to make it work. I suppose sitting in the corner weeping -- manfully, yet quietly -- and watching your wife sleep is one way to chase away the blues, but it's not the first one I'd recommend. Beth feels his cold dead eyes on her and wakes up in time for him to give a sad, beautifully delivered speech about how he's going to kill her and also the entire neighborhood: "I have so much hatred inside me. For my neighbors who betrayed me, for my son who disowned me, for whoever tried to kill me. I'm tired of hating people, but I don't know how to stop."
Tears, crying, pajamas. I have spent the last seven years of this show -- and at least three years of Mad Men -- wanting to make out with Paul Young super-hard, and knowing that's super-weird. This little scene is not helping one bit.