The valet lets Carrie into her room. It's fabulous. She munches on a grape, opens the curtains, then steps out onto the balcony. Lovely view of the street, and Le Tour Eiffel. She claps her hands and jumps up and down like a 38-year-old girlish woman. Wheee! Pareee!

It's night. The "hideous" light show is going on. It's not so bad. Carrie waits in her hotel room, all tricked out in what looks like an Alexander McQueen multi-layered gray and purple gown. Haute couture. Extreme. I generally call gowns like that "goons." And she's waiting for her man, who hasn't shown up yet. Tell us about the bum, Carrie.

Puppies nestle at Harry and Charlotte's feet. They're filling out adoption paperwork. (Harry and Char, not the puppies.) Harry can't believe the paperwork. Char turns to him and says that God is going to send them a baby. And, it's their job to be "as aggressive as [they] can, up to the point of being obnoxious." Harry says, "Amen." Here's a haiku I wrote for this scene:

No babies for Char
per se. None in her oven.
Adoption will work.

Finally, Alek returns to the room. Carrie's all spread out on the bed in her goon, asleep. He wakes her, then says the museum dinner turned into this whole big thing. Sad Piano starts up, heavy on the wistful. He would have called, but she put the "do not disturb" message on her phone. She did? I wonder why she would willingly cut herself off from everything she...oh. They kiss, then Alek says, "You look like dessert." She whispers that her dress is "a thousand layers." Oh boy. Counting, he begins to go up under the many layers of her goon. Oh, ew.

Sam practices her inspirational cancer speech in front of Smith, in a leopard bra and red boy-cut panties. Hee. Hot flashes. Sam's speech is rather bland. It doesn't sound like her. "It's in a woman's knowing smile..." Sam pants and sweats under her wig. Then, tah-dah! How did Smith like it? Smith makes an "eh" face. "It's kinda stiff." He thought it would sound more like Sam. At AA, "the most inspirational speakers are the ones that keep it real." Sam rolls her eyes. She's "speaking at a black tie benefit, not chilling at P. Diddy's crib." Heh. Won't she be rollin' on dubs to the benefit? Maybe she should keep all of this on the down-low. Ain't nobody have to know. Then she could shake it like a salt shaker. See the wall, shorty? Put your hands on it. Hey, I listen to far too much hip-hop. She finishes with, "You may know AA, but I know PR." Then she runs off to stick her head in the freezer. Aww, hot flashes.