Casa All My Children...Lynette is giving the three Scavo boys their instructions: Tom's bringing in Kayla, who's moving in with them, and they have to be nice to her because she's been through a lot. A shell-shocked-looking Kayla comes in, and the boys all stand there, staring at her. Lynette narrows her eyes at them and they all zombie over to her and start petting her all reluctantly. With more prodding from Tom, the boys then each give Kayla a gift: a harmonica, a book (Harriet the Spy!), a video game. And Lynette gives her an antique doll, which used to belong to her grandmother. Penny, by the way, is nowhere in sight, and good thing: I'm guessing she'd want her mother's precious doll way more than Kayla, who's supposed to be twelve years old and way too old for dolls. Kayla gives a very under-whelmed (or maybe just shy?) "thanks." Tom says something about making chili for dinner, and Kayla heads upstairs. As she climbs the stairs, she deliberately lets the doll's head knock against the banister. Hmmm.

Polygamy Palace. Bree, Orson, and Alma make small talk. Apparently the secret to the moistness of Bree's pound cake (not a metaphor) is sour cream. And the way Bree says this, "sour cream," it like it's supposed to be a barb, but it doesn't quite translate. Alma asks after Baby the bird, and Orson explains that he set it free. Alma tsks him, and he snaps. What does she want with him? Apparently all she wants is "closure." Uh huh.

Julie is sitting on her bed, doing homework. Oh my god, is that a puka shell necklace wrapped around the knob of her headboard? What are we supposed to make of that? Susan comes in: She "ran out of lipstick" and wants to borrow Julie's lipstick. As in, both Susan and Julie have one tube of lipstick, each? Most women have more than one tube of lipstick. In fact, most women have at least ten tubes of lipstick. Make that twenty. In alllll different shades. So the idea that Susan "ran out" is just lame. At the very least, she could have asked for a particular shade of Julie's that she admired. I don't get it, is it really that hard to come up with a believable excuse for these exchanges between mother and daughter? (I guess not: remember the absurdly critical need for travel toothpaste that sent Julie to the store on the day of the great hostage crisis?) Susan laughs at the name of Julie's lipstick: "Cherry Berry," and Julie swoons that Austin likes its flavor. Susan: "Oh I so did not need to know that." Yeah, me neither; the idea of Austin and Julie macking makes me want to put my hair back in a ponytail, you know, just in case I need to barf. Everywhere. Anyway, Susan's off to go see Mike down at the prison, which (as Julie points out) is in direct violation of her promise to Ian. Susan explains that clearly Ian knows, like intuitively, that she has to tell Mike about his new lawyer before she begins her vow of never seeing him again. Here's an idea: She could call the lawyer and tell him to explain to Mike who hired him and why. Or she could leave a message for Mike at the jailhouse. But instead, Susan decides that the best plan is to pretend that there's nothing for jealous Ian to get upset about, for she and Mike are clearly over, done, kaput. Julie shares my suspicious doubts: "I was just wondering because, you know, you're putting on lipstick to go to a prison." Susan looks surprised by this searing insight into her complicated soul. And the "Could Susan Be More Irritating?" music soars.