Six Feet Under
The Silence

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M. Giant: B | Grade It Now!
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Parenting Is Hard

Cut to Ruth shoveling the potato salad down Victoria's toilet. Which takes some doing, because that's a big pan. She flushes, closes the lid, and gets the hell out of there before the thing can back up on her. I can't wait until the next knitting circle, where Victoria recounts the nightmarish tale of how the entire party flooded with raw sewage shortly after Ruth's departure, and an emergency plumber had to come over and Victoria simply had to insist that he go home and change into overalls at once and then come back and take everything apart and snake it all out and work all night earning triple overtime and then at the end he came up to her with a sludge-spattered, five-figure statement and pronounced, "Too much dill."

Claire's at the bar paying for the next pitcher of beer. She looks a little reluctant to go back to the "yeah, baby" table, where her coworkers are still partying like it's 1997. That hesitation is her downfall; Lawyer Ted is suddenly there at her elbow with his bottle of Budweiser. At least, unlike Nerd Drone, he's able to resist the temptation to crow, "Whazzuuuup?" Ted tells Claire he's done some research; he knows she's an artist who had a show and everything. "Pretty impressive," he says. Claire tries to play modest, and asks if Lawyer Ted always wanted to be a lawyer. Lawyer Ted, who's clearly not on his first Bud, says he just took the easiest path. "I like being a lawyer. It's just one part of my life." Claire lies that it sounds interesting. "If you're really interested, maybe some time I can show you the other part." He says this with a grateful glance at his beer for making that cheesy line possible. Claire says she's going to head back to her table, and invites Lawyer Ted to join them. He says he should get back to his own table. What's the matter, Lawyer Ted? Afraid you won't be able to get Budweiser in a pitcher?

I bet you're wondering how the Pasqueaslets' advice went over with David. Let's find out. As Keith reds in bed while David folds laundry, the latter says, "I don't care what those two freaks of nature said. I am going to this assembly tomorrow and that's that." He insists that kids should have someone rooting for them in the audience. And then he goes into a whole story about how when he was a sailor in Anything Goes in seventh grade (which I would say is kind of an ambitious production for middle-schoolers, if my sister hadn't just gone to a grade-school production of that show in New Jersey a couple of months ago), his dad couldn't come because he was busy with a whole family of plane crash victims. And he recounts the Fisher ritual of going out to Marie Callendar's for Boston cream pie after school functions. Which they did on this occasion without Late Nate, but it wasn't the same. Keith still thinks the Pasqueaslets have a point. David quickly escalates the disagreement, saying Keith will take any excuse not to be a parent; he's never around, and when he is he barely talks to the kids. Keith says he's not allowed to. David says he just doesn't want Keith yelling at them. "I'm doing this all alone without getting any credit for being a single parent." Because that's what gets single parents through the day, David. Credit. Keith says if that's how David feels, he can go by himself. David asks if Keith feels anything for the kids. "Don't you have a soul?" "That's a terrible thing to say about your partner," Keith says, wounded. "Yeah, well, it's a terrible thing to feel about your partner," David snaps.

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Six Feet Under

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