Charlotte and Trey are having a meal. She says she wants to have the girls over for dinner. He's all, "That sounds nice!" But Char says he's not invited; it's a girl's night only. That's a little uncool to do when you're married, I think. The husband gets all displaced. Why not have dinner out? Well, it's her house too. Char is "trying to get [her] dayplanner back together, since [they're] no longer on the baby track." We get an aerial shot of her and Trey on opposite sides of their long dining room table, with clutter between them filling up the spaces in the already-thick tension. Char trills how odd it is now, with a baby room but no baby to put in it, ha ha! Trey says he has some good news: he may have orchestra seats to The Producers. Starring the husband of guess who. That's a little too meta for me, but whatever, it's not like there's anything else good on Broadway now. Oh wait: Proof. But that's hardly a comedy. And Trey wants Char to know that "life goes on," with or without a baby, and that they "have to find a way to have a giggle." He's so stiff and WASP-y, he sounds almost British. I want to hear him say "veddy propah," or "jolly good kippers, wot?" He asks Char to show him a smile, and she makes a really funny kind of grimace like, "I'll humor you, but WTF?"
Sam, wearing a sultry green dress, sashays into her beloved Dick's office (which is bustling yet airy), and tells him how to say "fuck you" to a German client he has on the line: "Fick mich." Which is actually "fuck me," she remembers, but Dick laughs it off. The papers are delivered, and then Dick hands her a beautiful "long, pink, amazing" rose. Sam kvells over it. But she also looks a little scared. So she offers to blow him right there in his office, which of course has a wall made all of glass so anyone can see in. She drops her portfolio on purpose, bends down to get it, swivels Dick's chair around, and says, "Das es einen shoenen perfecten schwanz," which I believe translates to "these are perfect shoes for swans."
So, Miranda just had a blind date with a pretty hot guy. She says that if she had known he was going to be "so not a loser," she would have changed clothes after work. He adds, "And put on deodorant?" She socks him. They kiss, and his hand trails down her neck, past her breast, and down her faintly bulging stomach. She jumps away. He doesn't seem notice; he's into her. So, can this multi-lingual fox see her again before jetting off to Brussels? Hmm.