At the shoot, Jessica briefly meets the thumbless photographer. No one gets chyrons on this show. It's very confusing. To distract her from Tom Thumb's criminal shortage of digits, there is a little white furry dog wearing a pirate sweater. It's hard for me to look at, because I loathe, loathe, loathe the trend of putting clothes on dogs, and I usually can't tolerate those who do it. To wit: "I want a dog I can dress up," Jessica squeals. Exhibit A. Then, as she's playing with her hair, she apparently loses her wily husband and goes to find him. "I wanted to see where you were," she schmoops. "Do you feel bad now? About the comment?" Nick prompts her paternally. Jessica is blank for a second -- well, blank-er -- and then nods robotically and says, "Yeah, I feel bad." Nick stares at her. "He is a nice man," Jessica says unconvincingly. Nick rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
Jessica coos over the packaging of her product. Clearly she's not actually involved in this, or she'd have seen and approved it already. This company is smart: Keep her away from anything that requires business sense. Or, you know, sense. They squirt the body mousse onto her hand and she gushes, "Oh, so it moisturizes?" She's fascinated. She's so frosting Nick's next birthday cake with this shit. Jessica blithely -- and, mercifully, rhetorically -- asks why it is that products are so much fun. Then she makes a crack about the pregnancy rumors. A stylist eagerly tells her that Dessert tracked down who started the rumor and canned her ass.