Rachel takes Kate back to the scene of the crime, er, "date," and starts babbling about how she was sitting just out there, drinking the most amazing "tea-slash-tonic," and everything become so clear. "What kind of tea-slash-tonic was this?" Kate wants to know. "Liquid yoga. Or black tea chi-devil," says Rachel, and Kate helpfully points out that it couldn't have been the tea, since she's had that tea and she's not getting married after one date, after all. "He pushed all my buttons, and I didn't even know I had buttons!" squeals Rachel, who starts listing all the things they did -- the Hollywood Bowl, talked under the stars, ate at a diner, et cetera, when all anybody wants to know is if they did the big squeaky. Kate says she just doesn't want to see Rachel get hurt. "Hurt? I've never felt such joy and excitement and sheer thankfulness to be alive!" She stops cooing, though, since she figures Kate knows what she means. Kate's all, um, sure do!
And I don't know if we're supposed to think that Kate went running right to her shrink, but here we are. He's asking her why Kate doubts that Rachel's really in love. Kate's all, I believe her! I'm just worried about her! Because love doesn't always work this way! Like instant pudding! "For who?" says the shrink. "For anyone," says Kate. "For you?" asks the shrink. "We're not talking about me," says Kate exasperatedly. "I know," says the shrink pointedly. Oh, right, says Kate. John asks if she's ever been in love. Kate says yes, but adds, "I think so. I don't know. I wanna be. I wanna be in love." He posits the brilliant theory that maybe she obsesses over her clients' relationships as a way of avoiding her own. Kate's all, not even! And what's wrong with obsessing over love anyway? "A lot," says the doctor, saying it could lead to "attachment disorder," "separation anxiety," or "love addiction." "'Love addiction'? Come on," says Kate, at exactly the same time I do. John says he's serious, and there's even a twelve-step group that rips off, I mean, "models itself after" Alcoholics Anonymous. Yeah. Because addiction to alcohol and living a Robert Palmer song from the '80s are the same thing. Give me a break. Let's all just keep coming up with addictions and disorders to excuse all behavioural excesses, shall we? Like, maybe I can watch all the hockey I want on television if I get a note from my doctor explaining that I'm addicted to hockey. Yeah, that'd fly.
You know, that's actually not bad. I'm think I'm going to try that, because…no. If I did that, my girlfriend would just find a medical justification for her Trading Spaces addiction, which is on television a hell of a lot more often than hockey is, even in Canada.