Anyway, when Gaby returns, pieless, stripping the gears of Hector's truck, she is unrepentent. "Please don't yell at me. That was my first time driving stick shift, and my nerves are shattered." She explains heartlessly that Hector got arrested because he -- "and I begged him not to!" -- drove onto the shoulder, which is where the police caught them. Carmen, who is apparently not too quick on the uptake, is like, "Wait, he got arrested by the police? Oh shit, that's totally different from what I thought you meant when you said he got arrested. Grace, go get your shit, we are leaving town." They disappear to the truck and Carlos needs Gaby to explain their deal: "I think they're illegals," she whispers, and runs over to beg Carmen not to go to Texas. Or, if she does, to at least leave Grace behind.
"Mrs. Perry slapped the caterer, so dinner's gonna be a little late," Susan explains to the hungry kids' table, out in the driveway. You know, because she cares about kids so much she can't stand to be away from them for more than a second or two, but leaving them in the driveway to starve while the adults are inside drinking -- that's just good parenting. They say something about Paige on the monitor and how she's been crying for awhile, so Susan steals their football and throws it at the Scavo's house so she can go be an asshole some more.
I think McCluskey is getting sort of China Pearl Hand Cream, if you know what I mean. At one point -- during the awkwardness of Bree trying to be a hostess and Richard trying to be a person and Keith trying to be invisible and Mary once again getting drunker and drunker and ruder and ruder -- she asks if the secret of the cranberry sauce was cinnamon: "If it isn't, can we talk about cinnamon?" and Roy's all, "I knew a stripper in Baltimore named Cinnamon! Nice broad." I mean, the point is that the conversation is getting more and more awkward, and they want to change the subject, but that usually requires you to change the subject to something that's actually a conversation you can have.
Anyway, Mary's drunken rage -- which is accompanied by a mysterious Brooklyn accent she's never had before; formerly directed at Bree's Fallopian shame -- is now pointed squarely at her husband, who is back from service in the Middle East and I guess preferred it there. So apparently it's okay now to compare that experience to your marriage, I guess we've turned that corner. "Take my wife, please! I'll stick with Fallujah." Randomly, Mary starts quizzing Richard about her likes and dislikes ("No, the stripper's name was Ginger, Cinnamon was her sister. Killed by a cab.") but the only activity he can think of that she enjoys is bitching. So that's fun.