Down at the adoption agency, Gabby and Carlos are meeting with one of the agents. "So," Gabby asks, "how does this work? Do we flip through a catalog or something?" The woman explains that it's actually not that simple. In fact, there are "ten couples" for ever infant up for adoption, and "you don't choose your child; the birth mother chooses you." Carlos says that they'll do whatever it takes to be picked. The woman explains that the "typical birth mother" is usually a "young girl" who just wants to know that the adopting couple are "quality people": "Now to show her that, you'll be putting together a parent portfolio," which includes "family pictures, character references, that kind of stuff." Gabby looks puzzled. Are they "auditioning to be parents?" Lady Agent agrees that's one way of looking at it. Gabby: "So just to be clear: some slutty teenager gets knocked up by the soccer coach behind the local Gas & Gulp, and she is going to make sure we're quality people?" And just listen as the "that Gabby, what a social retard" music swells!

It's a chirpy bright morning at the house of quiet inebriation. Bree's out in the back yard, reading the paper and huffing some wine. Andrew comes out, and she sort of folds the top of the paper down so that it's covering her glass. Andrew: "You know, you don't have to hide it from me." Bree tries to pretend she wasn't hiding anything; rather, she was "simply enjoying the day." Anyway, it turns out that Andrew's ride to school, "Mason," is moving away, and Andrew needs wheels. Bree offers to drive him. Andrew chuckles. What he wants is a car. Bree: "Well then, I suggest you get a job." Andrew: "Why should I have to go work my ass off at some fast-food place when I can already afford what I want?" Ugh, he is so horrid...he takes the "Andr" out of "Andrew." Bree scolds that they're "not touching [his] trust fund": that money isn't his until he's twenty-one: "And if I had my way, you wouldn't get your hands on it until you were fifty! We both know you're going to waste very penny of it." And with that fine act of parenting, Bree takes another swig of her magical grown-up juice. Andrew asks her why she's "being like this," and he seems honestly confused. She stands and faces him, and says, "Because, sweetheart, it is my job to teach you about responsibility, setting goals, delayed gratification." And, it should be noted, Marcia Cross does an awesome job here of capturing that particular confidence of someone slightly drunk. Andrew: "What do you know about delayed gratification? It's not even noon yet, and you're already on your third glass of wine." Points to Andrew! Bree, now officially cranky, informs Andrew that her offer of a ride is now revoked: he can hoof it to school! They bicker back, they bicker forth, until Andrew takes just a shade too far: "Well aren't we a mean old drunk?" And CRACK! Slap goes the weasel! Bree looks so shocked by what she's just done, you'd almost think Andrew had been the one doing the slapping. Andrew: "Whatever that was supposed to teach me, consider it a lesson learned." I'm not even sure what that means, but six more points to Team Andrew!