And for the third time, we're back at Edna and Irv's. They're drinking champagne and discussing their awesome future together. Irv wants to go live in a villa off the coast of Greece. He says he can write all morning looking out on the Mediterranean, with no problem for the rest of the day bigger than whether to hit the black sand beach or the red. Edna: "And what am I supposed to do -- wiggle around in a bikini and mix margaritas?" Sounds good to me, Sarge. Edna, however, has other plans. She wants to join the Peace Corps, maybe swing by Namibia and visit Rinda. Irv can't believe Edna wants to spend their retirement building houses and helping sick kids. He says he saw them slowing down, not kicking it into high gear. Edna says she gots to keep movin'. Irv says he just wants to sit still, and he wants Edna to be there with him. He asks her to at least think about it. Edna says nothing, and sips her champagne. Aw. Trouble in retireeland already.
Cut to Ephram, practicing piano. He hears a knock on the door, and calls, "Amy, this isn't gonna be one of those make-out apologies, is it?" The door opens, and it's Patch. Uh, guess not. Ephram tells Patch that he totally wasn't talking about his daughter, and asks if he's looking for Treat. Patch says that, actually, he's there to see him. Ephram: "Should I be scared?" Patch: "Every day of your life." Heh. Patch says he has a favor to ask, and hands Ephram the Princeton application. "All filled out, check signed, correct postage. She only needs to write the essay, which she could do in her sleep if she wanted to." Ephram reminds Patch, "Which she doesn't." Patch says he knows that, but she used to, and somewhere between freshman year and hooking up with Ephram, all that changed. The upshot of all of this: Patch was hoping that Ephram could maybe convince her to turn in one tiny little Princeton application, since he's the only person Amy listens to these days. "That was her dream once; don't deny her the option of turning it down." Ephram says he can try. Patch thanks Ephram, and says it's more than he can do. As he's walking out, Patch adds, "Your playing. It is as good as they say." He asks if it was an arrangement of a Bach motet. Ephram says it was an attempt, at least, and says he didn't know that Patch knew music. Patch says -- and this brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it -- that he wanted to play, but as with surgery, he was born with the ear, but not the hands. "God has a cruel sense of humor. Apparently, I'm his favorite channel." Hee. Ephram says he's been working on the piece all night; usually, it just comes, but when he's stuck, it takes a while. Patch laughs to himself, and tells Ephram that he's just like Treat -- he's just described what it is to be gifted, and he doesn't even know it. "The part that you call effortless? That would be the life's ambition of the less blessed. And the part where it's actually a bit of work? That's an argument that they wouldn't even be able to follow." Ephram says the experts seem to disagree, and he's got very expensive paperwork to prove it. Patch says that's technique, the part that can actually be taught, and graded, and improved. "What you've been given," Patch says, "it's more like the rain. It simply happens. Nothing can alter its timing or course -- you just have to dress for the occasion." Oh! Be still, my heart, because Patch Abbott is one hot motherfucker when he's poignant. Patch starts to leave again, and tells Ephram that he should really look up the words to that piece, as they were written by a brilliant poet by Johann Franc. Ephram ponders this as we go to the commercials.