Jack walks down the hall of Twenty-something Terrace, wearing a lace-festooned floral slip-dress under a gray Perry Como cardigan. She knocks on Jill's door, then puts an ear to it before heeding the Manual of Sit-Comical Hijinks and letting herself in with her key. The Clarinet Of Incipient 'Splaining To Do makes itself known as she enters and sits on Jill's bed -- ostensibly intending to drop off her own key with a cutesy note. Jill's headboard is an Art Deco woodcarving of the Chrysler building that looks capable of impaling anyone who leans on it. Jack puts the key in the box, then rifles through her purse for a pen and paper. But it's the darnedest thing -- the pen doesn't work, so she has to open a drawer in the bedside table to look for one . . . and it just happens to be the drawer where Jill's journal is kept! Of all the -- but Jack fondles the other knick-knacks in the drawer before closing it and starting her note, which she doesn't finish, because she's too busy fishing Jill's diary out of its drawer and reading it, with accompanying hyperbolic eyebrow gymnastics! Jill's voice helpfully reads along, accompanied by the Ragtime Noodlings Of Trespassed Privacy: "July 30, 1993: It was the most amazing sex I've ever had. Becky's so open! I can't imagine ever feeling this free with anyone else. Except maybe Antonio Banderas, but he doesn't return my calls!" Oops, it segued into Ivan Sergei's diary at the end there. "The most . . . amazing sex . . ." Jack whispers, circumflexing her eyebrows as Barto barges in to catch that varmint red-handed! Jack swallows guiltily and says, "Hi!" but Barto's not buying it. He's clearly read Jill's diary enough times to recognize it on sight. "Barto, please don't tell him, it was an accident," Jack sputters, putting the journal back in the drawer. "An accident," says Barto, his voice dripping with righteous sarcasm. "I'm begging you," she whimpers. Barto fixes her with a THC-laced glare and says, "You know about the code, don't you? Buddies over babes?" How could she not know about it, it's needlepointed into samplers on every wall of the Bachelor Barn -- right next to the samplers reading, "We're all gay!" "Couldn't you overlook the code? Just once?" Jack whispers plaintively to Barto's impassive face. "Look, it will never happen again," she blathers, claiming not to have actually read anything and promising to forget everything she didn't read. "I just skimmed," she fibs, "It was just -- more of a skim -- please?" Barto cocks his head inscrutably and Jack slumps with resignation.