(Slight recapping aside: it was at this point that I was visited by a horrible beastie, of the six-pounder winged variety, and without even thinking, I grabbed a can of Lysol and sprayed it into submission, and now it's in a bag outside my door. Yes, that's a bastard way to die, and yes, I feel badly about that, but more importantly: I cannot say for sure that it was a wasp, because it had certain characteristics of the Great Cat sub-family, felidae panthera, like the roar and the fur and the giant teeth, but I would say that if it were in fact a wasp, this is all very fitting as a metaphor for what happens in this episode.)
Over at Grand Central Station, they clink their glasses to the Final Four, and sup on oysters. Randal asks -- in a very "the producers just made a conversational suggestion" kind of way -- what they all gave up to be here. Alla mangles that she's missing her ten-month-old's first steps, and Randal mentions that he and his wife have been married for less than a year. Rebecca interviews that, as nice as the dinner was, it would have been nicer had it included her boyfriend or friends -- she'd be "actually enjoying the night, as opposed to semi-enjoying," which is very Rebecca of her to say, but not as much as the follow-up: " and also thinking about the competition." Alla asks Randal how he feels, being the only guy left, and he admits it's really weird, how Excel was "completely decimated" so quickly. Rebecca asks if he expected this outcome, which is kind of a weird question considering his demonstrated and lovely humility, and he admits he didn't expect that "no guys would make it." Then, awesomely, he interviews that dinner was "nice," but that he looks forward to crushing Alla and Felisha nonetheless. See? They're psychic now.