It's so sad, even Ned takes time out of his self-absorption to think of her. "You can't just leave," he says. "This is your home. Where will you go?" Shooing Vivian outside, Lily takes a seat next to the shivering Olive. "I know a place," she says, and one is forced when looking into her evil eye to wonder if her motives are entirely pure.
Later, Ned and Chuck wander through Olive's empty, insanely wallpapered apartment regretting their many unkindnesses toward her. Olive's apartment, Ned says, is paid to the end of the year, and she's asked Ned to water her plants. "I feel like I broke her," Chuck says. "I enlisted her to spy on my aunts and turned her into a homeopathic drug mule!" She is forced to admit that she had put the dope into the aunts' pies, hoping to get them out of the house, and even though she regrets Olive's part in it, she is happy that it worked. "Aunt Vivian took the bus!" she says, as she and Ned both bounce up and down with subdued happiness. "She never takes the bus! She says it's too intimate." Aw. Chuck muses on her first day at Betty's Bees. It was her first job, ever, she tells Ned. "I haven't gone anywhere with my life," she tells him. "And this is my second one!" She goes on to mention that, you know, she's never even lived alone. DING! Ned hears this and knows what's up. She wants to move into Olive's place. She says living next door will be romantic. "I'm confused," Ned says. "Romantic, how? You've got a job and now you're moving out?" Really, Chuck says, it will be better. They can forgo the sleigh bell slippers and corduroy pants and just be neighbors, like high-class French couples in separate suites. Plus, she says, it will keep Chuck from uh, walking in on Ned doing stuff he doesn't want her to know he's doing. Oooo, la la! French indeed. "That would never have happened if you were wearing your slippers!" he says. Hee. Anyway, she's decided. Chuck's moving whether he finds it romantic or not. Interrupting this meaningful moment is the arrival of Emerson at the door: "Where's Olive?"
Yes, let us not forget Olive, for right now she is frolicking across a very familiar looking hill of the Sound of Music variety, backed by Alpine ranges, wearing a turquoise novice habit and vocalizing in a non-copyright-infringing tune of sunny abandon. I love it so much. I happen to know a few nuns, and I only wish they dressed like this and sang half as well. I don't even think they should let you BE a nun if you can't sing well.