COMMERCIALS. Wow, the Hyundai Santa Fe "Life Shapes" spot, with the cirque de wow performers forming together to make silhouette of a car, it's so awesome, it almost makes me want to buy a Hyundai. Almost.
And back to the coma ward. Edie is scooting Mike down the hall and pep-talking how much he "kicked ass" in physical therapy. Fun Mike bitterly drones that all he did was raise his arm up, big wow. The Edie-lover nurse comes up and tells Edie that she has a "phone call." Oh right, that old saw. Susan, impossible to miss in her "clever disguise" of a hat, sunglasses, and trench (what, no rubber nose and attached 'stache?), stands off to the side with her cell phone to her ear. Edie picks up the phone, and Susan sneaks up behind Mike and wheels him away.
Downstairs, Susan loads Mike into the back of a handi-ramped van, along with the help of some guy named "Hank," whom Susan is paying "sixty bucks an hour" to take them on a little tour. Mike, with a robotic lack of enthusiasm: "Oh god, you're not taking me to that fish and disco place, are you?" Susan laughs. I laugh. A security guard steps out of the hospital doors behind, and Susan yells for Hank to "punch it."
Bree, wearing a soft pink cardigan this time (totally different from the coral sweater at the beginning of the episode), knocks on Mr. Falati's door. He looks nervously up and down the hall. She steps inside and gives him a huge hug: she's there to bestow her "blessing" on the happy couple. Bree hauls in two suitcases, one pink and one orange: it's Danielle's things: "I'll bring her CDs and her stuffed animals over tomorrow." Oh, I see what she's doing here. It's like giving the kid who wants to smoke a pack of cigarettes and making him smoke it all until he pukes. Nice. Bree: "I trust you to be discreet; you wouldn't want your wife to find out about this and use it in your divorce." Now, I'm thirty-five, the same age as Mr. Falati here, and I'm trying to imagine what it might be like to date a seventeen-year-old. What would we do, play quarters all day? Practice our sarcasm? That sounds exhausting. Clearly the same line of thought starts to dawn on Mr. Falati, and a note of panic creeps into his voice. He tells Bree to tell Danielle just to forget it, but Bree smartly says that he has to tell her that himself: "And don't even think about blaming me, because if you so much mention that we spoke, I will call the police." His will totally cracked, Falati agrees. As a parting blow, Bree adds, regarding college applications: "I do hope [Danielle] can count on you for a glowing recommendation." Mr. Falati, defeated: "Sure."