Somewhat along these lines, when he returns to "mix it with the juice" and demands to know why she won't do it -- this being the second time he's brought it up -- she says "because" through clenched teeth. Hee. "Just leave me alone," she snarls. I'm telling you, he was reeeally making it worse. He puts up his hands in an unmistakable gesture standing for the notion that if she won't take his excellent advice of mixing the caviar in with juice, he's not responsible for the consequences. "It's a horrible, horrible idea, by the way -- you'd never hide the taste, all you would do is increase the volume of what she has to choke down. Caviar will not dissolve. Can you imagine the sludge you'd wind up with from caviar mixed with red bug juice? It's like the only way it could be made worse.
At the battleship, Charla and Mirna search for the clue. They're followed by Marshall and Lance. Mirna and Charla find the Detour clue first, and they run off to "hide." Sigh. At first, both teams decide to drink the shot, and as they're leaving, they run into Chip and Kim, whom Marshall or Lance admonishes to watch out for the slippery walkway. Aw. Nice, generous jerk. In her cab, Mirna directs the driver to the Palace of Vodka as Chip and Kim pick the vodka back at the boat. Mirna then admits to Charla that her instinct was the hockey, but she didn't want to be the one deciding what to do. Charla jumps in, saying that she wants to do the hockey too, so they should just do the hockey. In fact, she is eager. "Let's go do the hockey!" she says.
Colin and Christie are still at the restaurant. "What's stopping you right now?" he asks her. "It tastes so bad," she says, starting to get teary. "I know, baby," he says, trying to sound sympathetic. He tells her to take smaller bites. He tells her to close her eyes. He tells her to close her nose. For a guy who didn't think he could do it himself, he sure is full of advice. Why doesn't he assume that what's stopping her is whatever would have stopped him? She starts crying. He comes over and strokes her hair, and he doesn't take off his gloves, which is very unfortunate. Because a guy coming up from behind you with gloved hands near your neck does not cause a feeling of deep and abiding security. He instructs her to take one bite at a time and not think about it. But now, she's got herself worked up, and it's a crisis. "Oh, my God," she says miserably.