Eleanor Waldorf, full of gifts and smiles and welcome, kissy-kisses all the grownups in the world not named Humphrey to her wonderful -- and Underpants-Branded -- Christmas soirée. She talks up the Underpants Tree with its Underpants-Branded lipstick ornaments, barf, and offers eggnog. Meanwhile, Lily is receiving a call from that Rufus. "Hey," he says, "It's me." She's superbly noncommittal as he admits that the whole running-into-each other thing at the Constance Billard Loom and Churn Festival was weird, and she agrees, "Especially after our last phone call." She reminds him, though that call was totally sublime, that they're not allowed to talk...BUT, if there's something he's got to say, in his adorable man-child way, he should go ahead and say that. "Is there something you want me to say?" he asks, earning himself a punch in the face. She asks him to be a grownup instead, all, "Okay, pussy, why are you calling?" and he biffs it, wishing her a happy holiday. No nookie for you. You had me, and you lost me. Lily lies and says she's flying to Anguilla with Bart immediately, for sex and presents, and he can languish in his wussy life forever. Immediately after hanging up on his ruthlessly sackless ass, she's like, "Blurg. Anguilla. What is the matter with me?" I think it's Random Urchin Friendly/Unmanly Syndrome, myself, for which the only cure is Husband Number Five. That might actually kill him.