Deb looks surprised to see Keith in there. He just wants a cup of coffee. Awkward hellos are passed around like they contain the Ebola virus. Keith puts his money on the counter as Deb says, "We haven't seen you in a while." Keith lies and tells them he's been pretty busy at work. Man, he lurvs Karen. You can tell just by the way he looks at her. Keith takes the cup of coffee, thanks Deb, and says, "Karen." Just before he turns to leave, Karen calls him back: "Why don't you come by some night for dinner, like we used to." He smiles and asks if tomorrow night would be good. Karen smiles and says okay. Now when Keith leaves, he's on cloud nine. Finally, something's going his way. But hell, we know that can't last, because that old dog's been kicked so many times when he's down, he doesn't know what up is anymore. Deb turns around and gives Karen a look. Karen smiles and says, "Baby steps."

Faux-Sherry, the Booster Mom, comes in, saying she's "so happy" she's found two Booster Moms in the same place. Did everyone in town have a baby when they were, like, twelve? This woman looks like she's about twenty-two. Anyway, blah Judy Johnson, blah backed out of The Classic, blah the last minute, blah needs a chaperone blah. Deb says quietly, "I have a meeting with my attorney. I can't cancel." Faux-Sherry whisper-gossips, "I heard about you and Dan. How awful." Deb just gives her a look. Soon, Deb's not going to talk at all; she'll just be glancing around, giving everyone looks. Faux-Sherry turns to Karen and asks her about her trip to Italy. Without pausing for a breath, she launches right into how the Booster Moms have missed Karen at the Silent Auction, the Bake Sale, and the Pancake Breakfast. Okay, okay, Karen gets the hint. And somewhere, way up in space, Keith's cosmic aura gets a great big kick in the ass. There's not going to be a dinner "like they used to" this weekend, unfortunately.

Speaking of Keith, and cosmic bad luck, we're back at the shop currently known as Keith Scott Auto Body, where some "new" guy rolls a dolly full of crap inside. Keith wants to know what the hell it is; the guy tells him it's the new "equipment." Speaking of what-the-hell, Dan's there carrying a life-sized cardboard cut out of, wait for it, himself. It's a man made in his own image. Although the head's disproportionate -- it should really be the size of Canada, Dan's ego is that big. They've whitewashed the entire inside of the garage; it looks completely different. So much for Keith "being his own boss" and Dan being a "silent" partner. As the dolly rolls by, Dan snarks, "Hey, don't let this guy get away with half days just 'cause he's related to the boss." Which means what exactly? Because Keith's at work, and it doesn't look like he's leaving anytime soon. Oh. Good. Grief. Keith's wearing a "DSM" jumpsuit/coveralls. He must feel like such an asshat. He sees the cardboard Dan and jokes, "Oh, gawd, I thought one of you was bad enough." Dan tells Keith the jumpsuit looks good on him. Ew. He continues, "How's your day going." Out comes the laundry list of the hard knock life: "Well, let's see, you changed my sign, you made me wear this monkey suit, and you're replacing all my equipment. What's next? You want me to start fixing bicycles too?" Dan snarks, "If it would turn a profit." Blah Keith equipment was obsolete, blah stuck in 1982, blah old school, fixing old cars. Keith insists that the machines were fine. Dan argues, "They don't work as good as the new ones. Now I told you I was going to help you with your shop. This is part of the agreement. You've got to start thinking like a businessman, bro." Keith snips, "I think you do enough of that for the both of us." Pause. "Bro." Then he walks away. Man, Keith's cosmic ass has had just about as much kicking as it can take these days.