Mini-credits! Oh, it's going to be a jam-packed night. Hang on to your stockings. With care!
Said credits drop us into a Christmas-decoration montage. One by one, all the Ladies unload their box of angels and lights and mysterious plastic plant-life. Bree's box of stuff is labeled with a neat P-Touched label that reads "Christmas." The Scavo's box says "Xmas" in sloppy magic marker, out of which Tom pulls out a huge knot of big-bulb-style lights. Gabby box says "Holiday stuff," and it holds a big fake fir wreath. Edie's box reads "WINTER CRAP"; she unpacks a dusty nativity scene. Susan's box has just a drawing of a tree on it (you may recall that she's supposed to be an illustrator). She pulls out some fake mistletoe and makes Ian come french her, and they moan and coo grossly, like they're in love or whatever. Ian asks her if she's free to meet his parents for dinner Saturday. Oh, and also, since they'll be too tired for a restaurant -- they're only in town for a four-hour layover -- could she maybe host the dinner at her house? And do all the cooking? Susan confronts him with her terrible secret: she's a deadly bad cook. Ian: "Well, my parents certainly won't be expecting a gourmet meal." (Though for some strange British reason, he says it like "gooer-may.") Susan: "Will they be expecting stomach cramps? Acid reflux? Night sweats?" Ian laughs, but Susan just gives him the thousand-yard stare of the not-at-all-joking. Ian: "They're just very old-fashioned, heart-and-home types, and they might wonder why you didn't make the effort." Pushover Susan pulls a miserable face but still agrees to "give it a shot." Ian: "Nothing elaborate, just a simple roast, and something appropriate to go with it." Susan: "Right! Like an ambulance." And the "Worst Plan Ever" music rollicks us into the next scene. God, has Ian met Susan? If he's really worried about impressing his parents, then he should hire a fleet of chefs to do all the cooking for her. Or at the very least offer to help peel the carrots. As it stands, this set-up just seems sexist, dumb, and doomed.