It's morning in Brenda's Fiancé-Fucking Family Room, and Nate enters wearing the delirious smile of a man who's been ridden hard and put away wet. Hell, even his body hair looks happy. "I gotta say, it was worth the wait," he reports, before asking if this means that the "ebb" is over. Hmm. Who would have ever thought that Brenda would be the one who wanted to wait until they were engaged to have sex? Anyway, while she gets up to fetch some coffee, Nate takes the opportunity to check out the novel she's been writing on her perfectly product-placed laptop. "Wow, this is kinda racy," he exclaims, before she grabs it out of his hands and slams the lid shut. She tells him he can read it when it's ready, or more accurately, "if it's ever ready." Now you know how I feel about the recaps. He also asks if the main character Christina is her "fictional alter-ego, [her] Holden Caulfield." Brenda replies that she's more like her Humbert Humbert or her Constance Chatterley. So Brenda is a pedophile who likes to fuck the farmhands? Now that doesn't surprise me. Nate, by the way, has no idea who these people are, which prompts him to inquire if Brenda would prefer "an overly educated gas-bag like Trevor, or a semi-literate fuck machine like [Nate].""That's a no-brainer," replies Brenda. "No pun intended." Oh, okay. Heh. On the other hand, I am interested to know why a person can't be both. I mean, who wouldn't want a lover who could simultaneously fart, present a grammatically incorrect dissertation on cold fusion or the Grand Unified Field Theorem, and act out the pictures on pages seventeen through twenty-three of the Kama Sutra. That's like my dream date, or something. Putting these questions aside for the moment, Nate pulls a small diamond ring out of his pocket and slips it onto Brenda's finger. "Brenda Chenowith, will you marry me?" he asks. "Didn't we already do this?" she answers, before planting a big kiss on his lips. But then Nate says, "I love you," and all Brenda can manage in response is "Good." Oh, please. Come on, Nate. You may be semi-literate, but you're not stupid. Well, okay, you are stupid, but even you should be able read the giant red STOP sign printed on Brenda's forehead at this point (though I'm sure she likes to think it says "Yield"). She's bad news, my friend, and I just can't bear it anymore. Also, remember this later on in the episode when David and his Little White Sex Dork break up for almost exactly the same reason. Nate now suggests that they tell his family the good news over dinner that night. Brenda isn't too happy about that idea, and is even less enthusiastic when he asks about telling her parents and brother. Brenda claims that she hasn't been talking to Billy much lately, but a quick perusal of TV Guide's guest star lists for a few of the upcoming episodes makes me question the level of truth in that particular statement. Finally, there's some innuendo-laden banter about pancakes, and the scene ends with one of Nate's sideburns shoving its tongue down Brenda's throat.
It's morning in David's Lawyer-Loving Loft, and the Little White Sex Dork emerges from the shower wearing the delirious smile of a man who's been ridden hard and put away wet. Hell, even his body hair looks happy, albeit significantly less impressive than Nate's. David is already dressed at this point, and looking somewhat impatient, but the LWSD just keeps babbling about the quality of David's shower. "Mine just has this weird bolt sticking out of the wall that sends out mist," he explains. "It takes like five minutes just to get wet." Oh, so many disgusting Brenda jokes, so little time. The LWSD now wants to know why David never sleeps over at his place, and then launches into a long, grammatically incorrect dissertation on the quality of his molding. No word on whether he farts or not. The sound effect guys must be on vacation this week. "I would be happy to stay at your place," interrupts David, flashing a smile guaranteed to win the hearts of men and women alike. The Little White Sex Dork moves in to straighten David's tie, and explains that he wasn't expecting to hear from David after their second date, because he "never thinks the good guys are going to call back." "Who says I'm a good guy?" wonders David. "Well, it's been three weeks, that's usually a good sign," says the LWSD. "Check with me in three months and I'll tell you how you're doing." Um, you might want to amend that to about three paragraphs there, buddy. They kiss, and we're out.