Joan and Luke are at the stove, making breakfast. Luke's created an extremely perfect-looking pancake, while Joan is torturing some puffy, gloppy mess. Kevin wheels by, remarking, "Pan-cakes, Joan, not pan-bricks." Joan complains that she followed the directions. Luke holds his pancake aloft on a spatula, admiring it: "Ah, eureka!" It is thin and an appetizing golden brown. Joan demands to know how he did that. Luke: "It's a chemical equation. It's all about conducting heat. Joan, you're not going to get any molecular movement with Teflon." Whatever, Rocket Boy. I make pancakes in a Teflon pan and it works just fine. Joan: "You learned how to cook in AP Chem? Since when?" Luke explains, "The whole flame-on-the-flask idea? That's cooking." Joan grouses that all she's learned how to make in AP Chem is soap. Kevin: "Looks like what you're doing right now." Joan smacks him lightly.
Their parents walk in wearing their robes, and Helen wonders, "All right...who wrecked a car, flunked a class...?" The kids are surprised they're up instead of sleeping in as they usually do on Saturdays. Helen: "We smelled smells, and since I'm usually the smell-maker in the kitchen, we got suspicious." Will squints at a vase: "Are those flowers?" Luke: "Weeds." Kevin invites them to have a seat and says they're preparing a surprise. He asks if anyone wants coffee; Will does. Kevin turns to his siblings and asks if anyone knows how to make coffee. Blank stares. Not bred for self-sufficiency, these Girardi kids. And no radar. Not much in the way of survival skills at all. It's a good thing they all live at home. Helen offers to make it, but Kevin insists that she sit down. He asks Luke, "How many cakes you got going there?" Luke: "One, but it's perfect." Will, who seems a little cranky, suggests they skip the food and cut to the chase. Joan, holding a small decorative box, says, "We've been thinking..." Will: "Oh, that's a dangerous proposition." Helen: "Will..." He explains, "I was having a flying dream." Oh man -- flying dreams are awesome. I've only had a couple, but they're so amazing, I'd be pretty crabby if someone disturbed one, too. Well, I'd be crabby regardless, but that's a separate issue. Joan continues, "The point is, you guys used to go away for a married weekend -- once a year. Uh, whatever that means. Please, don't tell me." Helen and Will manage to smirk slightly to themselves and not quite make eye contact in deference to Joan's plea. She continues, saying that they haven't been away recently, and Will's job's been so stressful lately, what with nearly getting killed and getting fired... Both her parents chime in to say that he wasn't fired. Joan: "The point is, we think you should do that again. That is, go away and do whatever it is you do -- and again, please don't elaborate." She hands the box to Helen, who opens it to find a certificate for a weekend of full-service treatment at the Willow Hills Spa and Well-Being Center. How'd they get the money together for that? That's gotta be about a grand, at least, with an overnight stay. Seaweed ain't cheap. Helen seems pleased, but Will acts like he just got bumped up for gum surgery: "Spa? It's a nice idea but we can't." Helen wants to know why not. He replies, "I'm starting my new position. Who'll watch the kids?" Kevin snaps his fingers and jerks a thumb in his own direction. Will: "I don't spa." Hee. Although the verbification bugs. Helen urges him to thinking of it as sleeping in. His concern: "Would I have to get a facial?" It's a good thing this is on CBS and not HBO, or I might feel obliged to be a lot more crude here all of sudden. She promises him he can sit at the pool and read books all day long. Where do I sign up? She keeps wheedling him, saying they haven't had the married weekend for a long time, and adding, "Strip Scrabble..." Joan yelps: "Oh! Oversharing!" She puts her fingers in her ears. Kevin kinds of grunts, and Luke winces. Joan: "Take it or leave it." Helen whispers something to Will; they both grin, and he says, "We'll take it." I think she just said something about promising him a new riding lawn mower, myself, but they like to mess with the kids.
Adam emerges from the administrative office at school just as Joan passes by in the hall. He asks her, "What's up with your mom? She signed my late slip, no questions asked." Heh. Joan replies, "It's too creepy to discuss." Adam asks, "Your parents are getting divorced?" Where did that come from? What an odd guess. Joan: "Worse -- they're going on a married weekend, something the siblings and I devised thinking we were helping the universe. They've been goofy about it for days, smiling. Note to self: do not encourage parental unity." Adam smiles dreamily and says, "That was a nice thing to do." Joan: "Adam, they've been packing and saying things like, 'Should we even bother to bring real clothes? Are we even going to leave the room?'" Adam replies, "Well, you're promoting true intimacy, yo." How many sixteen-year-old boys can say the word "intimacy" without sniggering? Frankly, I've known a lot of men ten, fifteen years older than that who could barely say it without at least choking a bit. They're at his locker now, and she says, "It's my parents." He looks thoughtful for a moment and then asks, "Well, what about us?" Joan: "What about us?" Adam: "What about us?" Joan: "'What about us?'" Adam, getting a little annoyed: "What about us?" Joan: "Is it just me, or is this going nowhere?" Grace comes grooving past at that moment, and says in an almost singsong fashion: "Good news for AP Modern Man: anti-drug lecture in the multipurpose room trumps homeroom." Joan: "Drugs? Who even cares?" Grace says it's getting them out of homeroom. Adam asks, "Price's idea?" Grace says it was apparently Joan's mother's idea. Joan rolls her eyes and fumes, "Why do they let her have ideas?" She heads after Grace.