The next morning, Lynette scrambles to clear the kitchen of the spectacular mess that is "three small children eating breakfast." Tom walks in, straightening his tie. "Oh, hey, honey, why don't you just...let the maid get that." Har har har. Not funny! "Oh, and by the way? Gary's showering right now. He asked that you bring him a clean towel and your...riding crop." Tom is clearly having all kinds of fun here. Lynette walks past him and gives his ass a firm kick: "I'm glad you find my humiliation so entertaining." Tom: "Honey, you were wearing a French maid's costume. I mean, come on, what were you thinking?" It seems as though the thought process behind a rubber French maid's costume is pretty front-and-center, Tom. Isn't that one of the main purposes of that kind of getup? The immediacy of its intentions? "I was thinking our marriage was in trouble and one of us ought to try to do something to save it!" Lynette says, clearly upset. This gives Tom pause for a moment, all, whoa, marriage? In trouble? Sure, they haven't had sex in a few days, but that happens, right? Right about then, the car pool horn honks. "Oh! That's Annabel," Lynette says. "How ironic!" How, Tom would like to know, is Annabel relevant to their discussion about the struggle that is their marriage? "Because she now comes to this house every morning," Lynette says, "to remind you of what I am not." Tom isn't getting it, so Lynette spells it out for him. "She's the fantasy, Tom. The hot woman that you work with every day, with her manicured nails and her designer outfits." Meanwhile, Lynette gestures to her sweat-suited self: Lynette is the reality, "the wife who never wears makeup and whose clothes smell like a hamper." Tom thinks this is the stupidest idea she's ever said. (Really? He can't see how Lynette might take her jealousy of Annabel and her lack of sexual contact with her husband and come up with some kind of fantasy v. reality theory? It's not that hard to follow.) Lynette reminds Tom that she used to be the fantasy: there was a time when she didn't need a maid's outfit because she knew she was enough for him, "even wearing a smelly t-shirt." Weeping now, Lynette concludes, "And clearly, that's no longer the case." Tom doesn’t know what to say: "If there's a way for me to fix this, just tell me and I will do it." Oh Tom, that isn't the most productive offer -- making Lynette come up with a list of suggestions for ways to save your sex life. The horn honks again, and Gary comes down with his briefcase at the ready. "You should go," Lynette says. "You don't want to keep Annabel waiting." Zing!