Casa KimberBree. The Erstwhile Nutsy Doctor asks Girl Child Van de Kamp where her brother is. There's a lot of back and forthing and KimberBree eventually forces Girl Child to call Andrew and find out where he is. "Act normal," she says. Girl Child tries, but Andrew sees through her ruse. KimberBree grabs the phone from her daughter and demands to know where Andrew is. She insists that he come home. I insist that I get myself some of the formal dishwashing gloves KimberBree is sporting. "Where are you? Are you at a BAR? Andrew! Andrew?" KimberBree can not believe that her son hung up on her. "What are you going to do?" Girl Child asks. And we see Dr Kimberly Shaw rise from beneath the surface of KimberBree and break through to the top as she rips off her gloves and races up to Andrew's room. She finds the door locked, so she kicks it in (yes, she kicked the door in, and yes, it rocked) and tears through his shit until she finds a matchbox from a place called "Topsy Turvy." KimberBree rules.
Cut to the Topsy Turvy, which is, as one would imagine, a strip club. Andrew sits between two other underage boys, watching girls take off their clothing, as I understand is de rigueur in such places. One of the ladies takes off her top and tosses it right to KimberBree, who catches it neatly. One of the boys turns to see who has such good hands and almost spits out his beer. "Keith. Ian. Andrew," KimberBree sings. Andrew demands to know how she found him, and she tosses the matchbook at him. "You went in my room?" he stutters. That's your biggest concern right now? Numb nuts. You do take after your father. "You think that's bad? Tomorrow morning, I'm cleaning it," KimberBree tells him. "Oh, by the way, Keith, I didn't get a chance to tell you. That was a lovely solo last week at church." Keith stutters out a thank-you and he and Ian run, run away. Like the building is on fire. "I hope it wasn't something I said," KimberBree reflects, and asks Andrew to get ready to go. He refuses. Andrew is a moron.
"Fine," KimberBree says, and sits primly next to him. "I'm staying for the show," she tells him enthusiastically. "I'm dying to see what all the fuss is about." She then turns to a passing waitress and orders a glass of the house chardonnay. Hee. She eyes the dancer in front of them, and wonders if Andrew, when fantasizing about said woman, ever wonders how she came to become a stripper: "That's someone's little girl. And that someone probably had a lot of dreams for her. Dreams that did not include a thong and a pole." Andrew insists that he isn't budging. KimberBree wonders if the stripper has had to deal with things like, say, abject poverty, drugs, or domestic violence: "Maybe even molestation. And now she treats herself like other men treat her. Like an object. A piece of meat." At this, the dude sitting next to them asks Andrew to please, for the love of God, get KimberBree out of there: "She's killing it for the rest of us." And so Andrew folds like a cheap suit, and they go. KimberBree looks very proud. As she should.