Finally alone, for the nonce, Serena squeals and proffers Dan's present. And you know whatever is in the bag, Lonelyboy's going to douche out, because that's what he does. "What's in the bag?" he asks, but you already know the answer: Your failure, in gift form. "Perfection! Look, I know it's not Christmas yet, but open it, please. I can't wait. I'm too excited!" Oh man. So he opens it, and it's some kind of rich guy watch that cost a billion dollars, weighs 87 pounds, and looks like a tank you wear on your person. I love those watches. Dan? Not so much. He's not really into things, per se, because all things are sour grapes to his broke ass. "I noticed the other day that you don't wear a watch, and then it occurred to me it's because you don't have a watch, and you're gonna need one to be punctual for all the meetings with editors and publishers now that you're a fancy...and apparently, self-important...writer." He goes into a fugue about how he never had a watch before, but on this show I can't see what good that would do, because you never know what time or what day it is anyway.
Poor Serena immediately takes note of his crestfallen, self-important disappointment in her thoughtful and beautiful gift, and assumes that it's for a valid reason: "You don't like it. You want the brown band..." He's such a dick I can't even believe it, but again: it's not that he's bad, it's that he's too real and I can't abide his realness. "No, no, no. I love the band. I love the whole thing. It's the most amazing watch I've ever seen," and it is, it's the most amazing watch ever made, "But I can't accept this." UGH. I thought we solved this problem. Serena does the obligatory, "it's more of a gift for me because I had so much fun picking it out for you," which is the rule for situations like this, but he's not having that. "Serena, I buy a book for my dad every Christmas. I think the most elaborate gift I've ever given has been a pair of rubber boots from L.L. Bean." Which: gross, first of all, and I'm sure they were for Vanessa's ass, and secondly, you buy your dad a book every Christmas, huh? How sweet. And then we all sit around the campfire sewing clothes for each other and talking about how not into "things" we are. I hate the Humphreys so much. I'll buy you a book called How To Win Friends And Influence People In Ways Other Than Making Them Feel Like Shit Every Time They Do Anything Nice, And Thus You Won't End Up In Williamsburg Married To Vanessa With Stupid Self-Important Montessori Children Eating Granola You Made Yourself Out Of Bitterness And Bohemian Bullshit. And yes, I know they have that at Powell's, but I will buy it at Wal-Mart just to prove a point.