Next. Today, Andy calls her "Kristen" and "Keer-sten" over the course of one sentence. Now that is a true lack of confessional sensitivity right there. We're in Florida now, where we know it doesn't snow because of the whole "hell freezing over" thing and how that doesn't happen. I mean, I don't know. I know that hostility about Florida is kind of five minutes ago (whatever. I'll say it's out when Jessica Shaw TELLS me it's out, okay?), but it's still so, like, Florida-ish. Just look at it. LOOK AT IT, I SAY! Andrew meets Kirsten, who shows up in a bikini top and a shit-eating grin (which has still got to taste better than the cod cruller, I must add). Our first stop is a beachfront bar of some kind where we meet Kirsten's friend and college roommate Carly. Kirsten tells us that "she knows what to say and what not to say," which would be a fabulous comment to watch Kirsten make in the parallel universe where Kirsten actually wins this thing and she and Andrew end up together. For a woman hell-bent on hiding something obviously worth hiding, she's tipping her hand and the cards are stacked with...um, ex-boyfriend cards (damn, was I close to the end of an unwieldy card-playing metaphor I became suddenly unable to pull off ["Jokers? Knaves?" -- Wing Chun]). Carly -- comely brunette who hates Kirsten if she knows anything about the fact that the world has other people in it -- listens as Andrew sits down without so much as a "hi" or a "how are you" and launches in to his paranoid diatribe about Kirsten's "ex-boyfriend, Bill." Kirsten leaps on this, adding, "A lot of people thought I had somebody, like, waiting for me at home." Andy tells Carly and Kirsten to stop "shooting glances back and forth," and Carly cops to there being an ex-boyfriend who is still a friend, but that it's over between him and Kirsten. Totally. People always remains friends when there's nothing going on at all. Andy skips off when Kirsten tells him to go away, and she and Carly chat about how Andrew has made Kirsten stop thinking about this "Bill" character. I've had enough of this invisible threat, lurking in the shadows. Lose the jealousy, Andy, or ditch her. Bill is totally the hanging picture of the father in The Glass Menagerie, never appearing but holding sway over all of the action that takes place in this little human drama. If you couldn't hear that last sentence over the sound of Tennessee Williams rapidly spinning in his grave, I'll be sure to repeat it for you after dinner.