If you stick with me 'til the end of this recap, I'll let you in on my sorority's secret knock. And then I will cry in your arms because there is no shame greater than the shame of having been in a sorority but not ending up being a lawyer with all the other sorority girls and so constantly having to explain your sorority-being-in past to, like, the intimidatingly cool DIY girl who's started her own letterpress business and who you know you'd get along with just so, so well if only she'd stop narrowing her eyes at you with one sweetly curled lip, asking "A sorority? What was that like?"
So...we open at a party at "Theta Sorority" at some fake Iowa college. A "plain Jane" type (read: gorgeous woman with the Hollywood misfortune to have long, straight brown hair, no bangs, and a side part) asks her roommate what she thinks of her outfit. Her roommate is a slutbag. We can tell because she is leaning sluttily on a bed, reading a magazine sluttily. Oh, we can also tell because she has big boobs. We won't be all that sad when she dies. Plain Jane is wearing a long-sleeved button-down shirt and a jean skirt, presumably to go out on a date. Slut Bag shakes her head and produces a slut sack of a shirt -- a red bustier-ish camisole -- for Plain Jane to put on. Plain Jane does while Slut Bag turns back to her magazine. Something about that interaction seems so weird to me. With your BFF, in the bedroom, you just keep chatting while you change your shirt, right? Or maybe that's just how sorority girls do it. But not these, of course. Plain Jane looks cute, the slut sack becoming her quiet nicely. As she leaves, Slut Bag continues turning her head toward conversation in an excruciatingly languorous and slutty fashion and advises her friend not to do anything she wouldn't do. Plain Jane giggles, "You? You would do anything," and leaves while Slut Bag pauses to consider her sluttiness some more...."That's true."
Out underneath the dramatic train trestle (WTF?), a train whistles forlornly in the distance while a pickup truck shuts off its headlights. Inside, Plain Jane asks why they aren't headed to the party yet, and her date, who we learn later is named Rich, declares they can't be on time to the party. Anybody heard of hitting up the Dairy Queen for a shake to kill a few minutes? What's with the remote train trestle location? And what woman would let someone drive her out to the woods while keeping her dimples tweaked just so for the handsome fella? Oh, right. A sorority girl would. They banter a bit more and then lean in for more smooching until Plain Jane's cell phone starts ringing, showing that it's her dad calling. She decides not to answer. They go back to smooching and Rich sort of awkwardly moves his hand under her tank top strap. I say "awkwardly," but I really mean to say "a hand that appears to be plastic and not in any way human sort of stiffly stiffs its way under the strap." Plain Jane places her hand on his lump-o-plastic hand and quietly says "no." Can't imagine why. His touch seems like it would melt ice. Left outside on a hot day. Which is melting just fine on its own.