Bree and Orson are shoe-shopping at a very well-branded Macy*s (also an advertiser during the next ad break) when an old lady comes up and tries to fondle Bree's bump. Bree grabs the woman roughly by the wrist and growls some meanness at her, and a security guard shows up to see if there's a problem, and the scared old lady scampers away. Bree: "Why must old ladies always do that?" Orson: "I don't know, but you've got to stop roughing them up."

Susan's at the doctor's for her annual unit inspection, but her regular doctor is busy delivering a baby, so a substitute doctor has to come in to look over her junk. The sub is -- wait for it -- exactly, it's new-neighbor Mal. And who didn't see that coming? There are some mildly funny words exchanged here, where he keeps asking her to "scooch down" and "relax," which is...well, it's just very...authentic. And then Mal small-talks that wife Katherine has talked about Susan for so long, it's "nice to finally put a face to a name." Is that what they call it now? They chat about her "irregular periods," he suggests that it may be an early case of menopause, and Susan has a meltdown, re: her rusty, dusty eggs.

Lynette is white-knuckling her way though Parker's school play, while her mother urges her to go home because she's been hurling all day. A bitchy parent (Muriel) comes up to them and bosses Lynette into "volunteering" for some gruesome project for school. Lynette's mother tsks that Lynette is taking on too much. Lynette swoons, gurgles, and then ultimately hurls into what she thinks is her mother's purse but is actually the purse of the awful PTA bully, Muriel. Nice.

Katherine throws a big, elaborate BBQ and invites the whole neighborhood to attend. Mrs. McCluskey pointedly asks her why she left town so suddenly, and Katherine dodges the question. Mike puts down a plate of egg salad and whispers to Susan that he thinks "the eggs are past their prime." I know we just met Katherine, but somehow I don't think she'd ever be guilty of serving guests iffy egg salad? Also, couldn't the writers have found a slightly less weighty anvil to drop here to segue to Susan's menopause? Just then, a table of Wisteria's oldest whiteheads (Ida, Mrs. McCluskey, et cetera, et cetera) gleefully call out to Susan that they've been saving a seat for her, which is also just a total brick.