Central Park, where Blair is wowing at her mother's ability to be okay with the surprise gayness of the season. Instead of pointing out that her capacity for forbearance is implicit in the red cape-cloak from Mongo that's threatening to consume her body and soul, Eleanor's like, "What would you have me do? Scream? Turn our daughter into a giant bulimic sociopath? Act like a scorned wife? I've had years to get used to your dad's total gayness." Harold and Roman chitter-chat about old-man gay stuff, and Blair's like, "Roman doesn't even know how to ice-skate! Take him away with you! Drop him off at a nail salon on your way to the meeting!" Eleanor explains that she is not to be arsed about getting Roman away from Blair, cutely, because she has to "mentally prepare" for her big meeting with the CEO of an Underpants Company. Everytime they drop the name of this Underpants Company, take a drink. At the end of the night, you too will find that prancing around with your boobs hanging out and marrying Seal seems like a good idea. Roman's tiny gay French ears perk up: "[Underpants Company]?" (And you would not be particularly faulted for thinking that this is a total diss, because in fact it's super dumb to think that this show, in a real economy, would come anywhere close to Underpants Company, because they have Underpants Company in every mall, large and small, and it's kind of the Forever 21 of underpants, so there's no real cachet. But just as you know that when Paula Abdul takes a refreshing sip of Cola Product she's really drinking moonshine, you know that when they say Underpants Company, they're really talking about something like La Petite Coquette. Or whatever is flossy-flossy, I admit I just picked that name out of a copy of Forbes; I don't claim to know anything about Lady Underpants beyond what Oscar De La Hoya wore to my last Christmas party.) Eleanor explains to Roman that she's designing quote "a line of retro-chic sleepwear and lingerie," which sounds cute, as long as retro means like fifty years, and not a hundred. Blair says she's very much looking forward to the samples, because apparently she and Serena are both planning on flouncing around the Xmas tree looking like hookers tomorrow morning, and then totally tosses Roman at her mother like a tiny gay French grenade: "Why don't you tell Roman all about it?"
Having gotten rid of her mother and soon-to-be stepfather-in-civil-union, she pounces on old Harold , telling him how awesome and bulimia-remedial it is to have him in town, after her mom so crudely blocked him from coming to Thanksgiving. He asks after the ever-handsome Nate, who he just adores, and she explains that Nate's in Connecticut with his mum. And if you hadn't already guessed that Anne Archibald and Nate's maternal windfall came from Connecticut, you don't know your New England stereotypes. "He said he would try to catch a train and make it to the party tonight," she says, not even noting the giant asterisk that attends every promise poor old Nate ever makes. They talk about how the annual party is just one more thing Harold gave up when he gayed up, like, how do they even keep all these parties straight enough to miss one particular one, and he tells her he can't very well attend, because of his inability to be two places at once. "You know that chateau near Lyon that I told you about?" They bought it, the two of them. "The house is flooded with light. The fireplaces are big enough, I mean, you can walk into them. The gardens are incroyable." Is Blair's dad secretly David Rakoff? I wouldn't move to France for anything less than Vanessa Paradis. Or...I can't think of any other French people! Go see The Golden Compass instead!