Six Feet Under
Dancing For Me

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All Aboard The Crazy Train
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

We open on a garage door as it opens. It's two openings for the price of one! A newspaper-in-the-driveway's-eye view shows a gargantuan SUV backing out, looking like it's going to run over the camera. But instead, it stops so that the driver can attempt to pick up his newspaper without bothering to get out. A hand stretches down from the vertiginous heights of the SUV's interior, but the paper remains out of reach. That is, until the driver falls out entirely. With the brake released, the vehicle is free to roll gently down the hill, and none too gently over the driver's head. And that's it for Samuel Wayne Hoviak (1965-2004). Let's hope that his wife is less lazy in a few days when the paper containing his obituary is on the driveway.

You want a third opening? Well, the one between Brenda's legs is currently getting a vigorous thumping, courtesy of Nate's meatpole. Thank god for blankets. Nate offers to pull out, but Brenda tells him to fire away, so we know some time has passed since the wedding/miscarriage extravaganza. Thus freed to release the hounds, Nate goes for the home stretch. And then we see a little girl at the foot of the bed, jumping up and down and grinning at them like a loon. Aside from that, she looks just like Maya. Brenda tries to call a halt. Too late, Brenda; I'm already blind. "Too much man for you, huh?" Nate laughs. "We've got a little visitor," Brenda explains. Nate rolls off, chuckling at his daughter, "Hello gorgeous. Dancing for us?" Still hopping up and down like -- well, like Nate fucking, Maya says, "I'm dancing for me." Another line! And the episode title, no less. Those twins are going to get their SAG cards yet. Nate blithely suggests breakfast and hops out of bed. I hope Maya has preceded him out of the room, because although we can't see any Nate-parts, we didn't see him put anything on, either. "Raincheck," he says to Brenda, who's still lying there with a hilarious, slightly freaked-out "Everyone's okay with this?" look on her face.

Over at David and Keith's, the morning "let's become parents" routine isn't quite as much fun; instead of a penis, it involves pens. Specifically, Keith's asking David to sign a stepparent petition. Apparently, the surrogate and Keith will be the child's legal parents at the time of birth, but then the surrogate will sign away her rights and David will adopt the resultant baby as a co-parent. David starts to flip through the document, but Keith assures him that it's all kosher: "I signed your form, now you sign mine." I assume by "your form" he means the adoption application. I don't know if referring to the two processes as "yours" and "mine" is the healthiest way to go about this, but something tells me it's just the beginning. David signs. "We're really doing this, aren't we," he says nervously. Keith thinks David's about to go off, but David says it's going to be great. He also adds that he talked to the person at the adoption agency, who's faxing over an orientation schedule. Mornings are better for Keith, but nights are better for David, so they agree to go with nights. David thanks Keith, and then says, "This doesn't mean you get to pick the name." Keith protests that he's being nice because he loves David, and David smirks that Keith's being nice so that he can pick the name. "The fact that Jackson Charles Fisher is an excellent name and pretty much guarantees that our son will be playing for the Los Angeles Dodgers is a completely separate issue," Keith says amiably. This is the sort of thing happy couples disagree about, you understand. That must mean David and Keith are happy, right? Right?

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