Michael hits the couch and turns on the TV, becoming awfully excited awfully quickly because "Nickelodeon is having a marathon of Bewitched! My weekend's set!" Isabel retorts with the never-clichéd "who are you and what have you done with 'X,'" cleverly inserting Michael's name in place of "X." Max explains that it's "the whole Maria thing," and Michael excitedly reports, "This is the one where Samantha turns Darrin into a goose." Max chides (so much chiding this week. That poor Ronald D. Moore must have had a very antagonistic childhood), "You need a hobby, man." Michael chides back, "You mean like golf? Riding around in some stupid cart?" Well, failing that, how about elegant plot development? Be a trailblazer. How does he know it's a marathon, anyway?
But hark! The front door begins to open, and Isabel freaks that Jesse is home ("The front door? Dammit, I thought this was the closet door!"). She runs over and grabs the door out of his hand, claiming that there is a ladder in front of it. Max and Michael, meanwhile, peel the color right out of the wall, and Isabel allows Jesse entrance to the house. What's the matter? Did he forget something? "Yeah. My balls." Max and Michael titter like eighth-graders. God, I love it when they keep the tone of this show consistent. Jesse senses an awkward silence and asks if they've been talking about him. Isabel proclaims him "paranoid," and chides (weep for Ronald D. Moore! Weep for him!), "The whole world doesn't revolve around you." Max passes the chide baton: "Yeah, it revolves around Michael." Michael goes back to the couch. Jesse leaves. I buy Ronald D. Moore a session on the couch.
With Jesse gone, Isabel joins Max and Michael in the living room. Seeking deeper meaning through the learned teachings of noted social scholar Elizabeth Montgomery, Isabel notes, "She had it so easy." Michael disagrees, retorting (which is really just a more pedantic form of chiding), "Samantha takes pride in her witchcraft, and she's made to suffer for it in an uncaring, secular world. She's a modern-day Athena." Isabel doesn't get the reference, so she makes with the all-about-her-ness, opining, "Think about how much easier my life would be if Jesse just knew who I really am." Michael suggests, "You could call it I Married an Alien." Perhaps she will, Michael. Perhaps she will. Hey, where are we going? Isabel stares back into the TV, which we see in close-up. On it is a shot of Isabel and Jesse in the pre-Technicolor shades of Nick at Nite's entire programming slate, driving in an obviously fake car while blue-screen scenery rolls out behind them. They're decked in fully Samantha-and-Darrin (or Jeannie-and-Major-Nelson) clothes and hair, Jesse smiling hugely in his dapper Eisenhower-era business suit and slicked-back hair. Campily, in the style of all those '50s television shows not one person in Roswell's demographic has ever actually seen, Jesse takes out a silver oval and smiles at Isabel, asking, "How many times do I have to tell you not to leave your alien orbs in the car?" She's all "sorry, dear." The laugh track bellows its approval at the cruel irony of a third gay Darrin. Today's Isabel stares into the TV and notes, "Yeah. That would be some show." Well. Let's go find out if she's right!