Seizure Mom's husband and adorable baby arrive, and Pratt explains that they're still trying to figure out what his wife's problems is. The guy goes in with his child, cooing and kissing its head, to keep his wife company.
Sam passes, so Pratt accosts her: "You know, when I ask you to assist on an exam for a female patient, it's so I don't get accused of things I didn't do." She snorts that she's not to blame for the hot water that's currently boiling him like so many eggs. "I did everything I could to put that patient at ease," he insists. "Guess it didn't work," she says, airily. God, she's no help at all. I hate her attitude. If she'd turned her head, like, thirty degrees, she could've kept an eye on things at the very least. Pratt says he was just trying to be friendly while he did it. "One man's 'friendly' is another woman's 'creepy,'" Sam quips. Well, she's right there. Glark should put that on some of his Urban Asshole cards so that we can pass it out at bars.
"You're a flirt, Pratt. You can't help it," says Sam. To repeat myself, that's why I think this storyline doesn't hold weight if the accusation came from Brunette. I think Sam is assuming that Pratt was being a bit oily because she already sees him as a flirt. "I wasn't flirting!" he says. I believe him. "Nice package, by the way," Sam coos. "We were noticing it earlier. Must be those pants." Pratt cottons onto her trick of making him feel like a sex object and refuses to bite. "I didn't say anything even remotely inappropriate to that woman," he says. "It was going through your head," Sam says. SHUT UP, SAM. How does she know that? I hate her today. And seriously, maybe I'm feverish, because I'm defending Pratt an awful lot, but this whole thing just seems annoying and contrived to me, and now we have to hear Sam spout off a dozen idiotic stereotypes about guys as if it's gospel, a truism women hold dear and pass down to other generations. Sam insists that Pratt was thinking what a great rack Brunette had, and that men only think about food, sports, and sex, because they're simple creatures, really -- morons, if you will. Except that she's just about described my perfect day -- with the exception of the sex, because my family reads these recaps, and I don't know what sex is or how it's done. Does it involve TiVo? "If they ever invent a refrigerator with a wide-screen TV and a vagina, we're all doomed," Sam says. She'd be shocked to learn how hard it was to find a guy in L.A. who likes sports and will watch them with me. I want to pull Sam's hair. Pratt's a little beleaguered by all this, but he listens, and occasionally snorts at her, because she's being really unfair in saying that all men like sex, and that therefore Pratt was secretly delighted that he was fondling a boob. By that logic, then, she'd have to ream Luka after he gave a breast exam, and you know she'd never even think of doing that. "When you check us out, you might as well be asking us to show you our tits, because that's what it feels like, and believe me, it's not a nice feeling," Sam concludes. She's not wrong in every case there, either; I just wish...I wish this whole scene had never happened. It made me so very vexed.