YOU DIDN'T "DATE" BRODY. That's not the word for that. I don't think you know what that word means. Meanwhile, Lo is at her place of business, hair lovely in a roots-showing chignon, funny little elf-ears pointing up, brow furrowing complexly as she prepares herself for the deluge of destruction stupid McKaela's calling down on herself. She goes on to offer the idea that Kristin's "world" is "small," whatever that means, and that McKaela's entrance into this world is blowing Kristin's mind. Somehow.

Kristin is, of course, mordantly amused by this theory, and we both want it to continue, and McKaela, amazingly, tries to condole Kristin: She's really "worried" about her, in fact. It's like she got the manual of how to Mean Girl a person, but it was poorly translated out of and back into English, so she doesn't understand the underlying principles. Kristin's reply is vintage genius: "Yeah, my life is great? That's why this is my biggest problem?"

With this look at McKaela -- whose face is starting to harden into a sort of bullied rictus you know she had much opportunity to practice growing up -- like, "Do you not see the irony here?" McKaela is not going to be understanding your irony. McKaela is I think incapable of that much introspection. She still thinks she dated -- or who knows, maybe thinks she's dating -- Brody. Like how can you turn your face into such an impassive mirror that you're bouncing back Kristin's withering glance? You can't. You just look slow. Lo's more than happy to get the fuck on up out of there, once Kristin has dismissed McKaela with a toss of the hair, and we're done.

Oh great, Ryan's house. Dishes. Red wine. Giggles. What time is it. Giant watch. Uncomfortable from the singing onstage at her weirdness. Pudgy little sweet face. Ellipses, aporia, lacunae. They use the word "work" a whole lot of ways -- making things work, working on things -- and then Ryan I guess from her face, which always just looks like a drunk vole to me, or from the particular intonation with which she conjugates "work" one of those times, goes like, "Oh, you're breaking up with me."

Cue the tears, from that deep black well inside Audrina that the tears come from, unbidden and unsounded, all the fucking time, for no reason. Unspeaking Ryan swallows his wine and watches her cry for awhile, chins a-wobbling. If only somebody could squeeze Audrina's feelings like a tube of toothpaste, so they would come shooting out her mouth instead of her eyes. If only Ryan Cabrera could cry black gloppy tears of death for us, right this second. Right here, for us, now. If only as this was happening, Crazy Wonky Allie could let herself in through an upstairs window, frantically trying to reattach her shadow with a bar of soap.