Abby arrives in the psych ward and meets up with her resident. He has enormous ears, so I'll pilfer my beloved father's nickname for England's Prince Charles and call him Big Ears. "Mr. Rosenbloom was asking for you," says Big Ears. Abby laughs until he tells her to take it as a compliment. "It took me two years before The Duke would even talk to me," he smiles. He suggests that her nursing background must be what helps her relate with these people person-to-person; Abby suggests that genetics might have more to do with it, since her relatives put the "crackpot" in...well, "crackpot." They enter a tiny observation room, clearly behind a mirror in the counseling room. Big Ears tells Abby that she's going to lead the group today. She's floored. "By myself?" she asks. "No better time than the present," he says. Well, I can think of one better time -- the right time. But who am I to question a man whose ears are so big he can hear my skepticism before I even open my mouth? Abby steels herself, and then stiffly walks inside, sits down, and introduces herself.