Apparently, the stress of having the crap scared out of Jessica prompts them all to take a brief break. "I thought I got shot!" Jessica exhales, flopping down on the couch. Oh, now there is a picture: Jessica licking sugar off her finger with a giant oozing bullet hole where her left nipple would be. It would seem, sadly for him, that Tom Thumb stored all his artistic vision in the lost fingertip. Nick and the gang tease Jessica about how sick she's going to get from gobbling all that icing, and Brad wants to get her a chuck bucket.
Jessica gets back up to take more photos. Tom Thumb tells her to put yet more of the frosting on her finger, and she actually manages to mess that up, because it requires a part of the brain that can…well, it requires her to have part of a brain. Incidentally, I looked at the Sephora site, which is pimping Dessert, and they used one of these photos. However, in what I like to think of as Tom Thumb's Subtle Revenge, the photo that was chosen makes it look like she has four fingers and no thumb on her right hand. He's all, "Yeah, thumbs up on the picture, bitch!" It obscures the other thumb, too, but in a more logical way, because that hand's got the cupcake in it. The company also is hawking a product called "Deliciously Kissable Belly Button Love Potion Fragrance." Personally, I can't imagine flavored navel grease coming in handy. If I rubbed a bunch of that into my belly button and then cooed at my boyfriend to eat up from his own personal Dessert bowl, he'd be like, "Are you kidding me with that shit? I need a beer."
Jessica starts to get sick as the shoot continues. The music grinds to a halt. Nick moseys over to make sure his wife isn't about to throw up all over the costume, because that might cost actual money to replace, and he's not making any of that right now. Jessica holds a bagel chip. Huh? She closes her eyes and horses her lips again as some dim bulb next to her holds Jessica's fairy princess pink shoe up in her face. As if sniffing her own foot odor will settle her roiling stomach. "Where's the closest bathroom?" Jessica moans, piling her hair on top of her head. She crouches down on the restroom floor. Nick peeks in to check up on her, and she self-indulgently wails something unintelligible in reply. God. She's such an attention whore that she has to turns something that was already All About Her into something that's even more Jessica-centric. Her mother brings Jessica a plate of food, which she promptly puts down at her feet. It's a plate of crackers and cheeses, and a hunk of French bread that looks to be topped with slabs of Brie. Rich cheese as Pepto Bismol? Oh, Ma Simpson, you homeopathic genius, you. Of course, someone makes the inevitable morning-sickness jokes, and Jessica just squirms and whines and shoves floor saltines into her mouth and whimpers some more.