Speaking of paranoid fantasies, George is home! Ruth lets him in the front door, and he's looking pretty disoriented. But in case you can't tell that from Cromwell's performance, they make him say, "How do I get to my room?" "You mean our room?" Ruth says. "Our bedroom?" "If that's what it is," says George, unsmiling. Ruth leads him upstairs to unpack rather than taking this valuable opportunity to park him back down in the bomb shelter for good.
David and Keith are doing some unpacking of their own, digging through envelopes of potential surrogate mothers. Well, that was quick. Keith suggests Tamara: "She's got your forehead, an I.Q. of 120..." David notices that she's also 5'2" and weighs 160 pounds. "Maybe that's why she costs less than the other ones," Keith chuckles. David says, "It's not like I wouldn't love an obese child, but I'd rather not sign up for a lifetime of body issues. Especially if we get a girl." Dude, a BMI of 29.3 is not obese. 30's obese, according to the CDC, but not 29.3. Unless you live in L.A., I guess. Keith says, "If we get a girl, you better hope she's obese. I'm not having some twelve-year-old hottie running around Sunset Boulevard with her ass-crack showing." Because those are the two options? I wonder if they talk this way during their home-study interviews. Keith's cell phone rings. "Hey, Rog. What's up?" he answers. Ah, it's the Pasqueasel, wanting to hire Keith for a few nights next week. David gives Keith a look, but says nothing. Like it's Keith's fault that David ate the dude's ear and opened himself up to a half-million-dollar lawsuit. Keith leaves the room to get his calendar. Now that David's alone, the lighting changes, and there's a cheesy synthesizer flourish, and Chris Harrison from The Bachelor(ette) enters. Wow, how did they ever get him? He spreads his arms and game-shows, "Are you ready to meet the Bachelorettes?" "Uh...I guess so," David manages. Chris ushers all of three formally dressed women into the living room. David rises to greet each one of them with a handshake. Sierra, blond and in pink, is twenty years old with a combined SAT score of 675, and "although I'm not ready to start a family of my own, I want to put as many versions of myself on the planet as I possibly can." Dee Dee from San Pedro is twenty-seven years old, loves outdoor sports, and has had nine healthy babies, "because it's my mission to have children for bourgeois narcissists who can't conceive on their own." Dark-haired, green-clad Lindsay has a bunch of degrees and $60,000 in student loans. "I'm hoping you'll pick me so I won't have to resort to more obvious forms of prostitution to get out of debt." Aw, don't you miss Ally McBeal? Me neither. Keith wins back some points with me when he shatters the dream sequence and puts an end to this ridiculousness. He comes back into the room, saying, "So have you found her?" David apologetically balks: "I can't just rent out some woman's uterus like it's a storage locker." David, on behalf of surrogate mothers everywhere and the people they've helped to become parents, fuck you. But Keith just quietly says, "Okay."