Next door, in the middle of a groundswell of music noise, Meadow bitches into the phone that "I can't believe you guys didn't get enough for us," then rolls her eyes and brats, "Yeah. Put Matt on." Carmela knocks, then opens the door and demands, "What's going on in here? You trying to damage your inner ears?" "We're studying!" Meadow tells her, fixing her with a "get out" look. Hunter blathers on about the "brutal" SAT practice tests, but Carmela just asks if Hunter's parents know she's there so late; Meadow says in her best "uh duh" tone, "Yeah, she's sleeping over." Carmela just stands there. Finally, Meadow says with much eye-rolling, "Can Hunter please sleep over?" Carmela does a half eye-roll of her own and says, "Start sleeping, then, study time's over." "We still have six more chapters left," Hunter whines, like, who tries to bargain with their friend's parents? Shut up, Hunter. Carmela tells them to keep the noise down and shuts the door; as soon as she's gone, Meadow picks up the phone and starts bitching at Matt again. Hunter grabs the phone from her and tells him that "if we can't score some crystal, we're dead."
The next day. Carmela walks through the tacky beige-and-ivory foyer in her workout clothes and listens to Charmaine run down a list for the fund-raiser, then tells Charmaine in a really phony "just us girls" tone that she's so glad Charmaine's helping her: "This whole party has me at sixes and sevens." Charmaine starts to say something about the pediatric hospital being a worthy cause, but Carmela stops at a highboy and pulls up short, then hollers at the maid, "Oona!" Close-up of Carmela's French manicure as she beckons Oona imperiously: "There is [sic] fingerprints all over the breakfront." Charmaine looks on, slightly taken aback, as Carmela dresses Oona down and reminds her that "I want this place to sparkle," then turns to Charmaine and rolls her eyes dramatically before whispering, "She's usually very good. From Poland." Charmaine nods all "um, okay." Reason Number 373 that this show rocks: the bang-on characterization of Carmela as one of those nouveau riche Jersey housewives who has nothing to do all day but spend her husband's money on tennis lessons and manicures and redecoration that the house doesn't even need, and who turns around and cops an attitude with the help. I used to work in a cutesy-poo country home furnishings store in my hometown, and some of these women would come in two or three times a week to wear out their platinum cards buying twee little heart-shaped wreathes and pukey little matted ducky paintings and whatnot, and they'd stand there with the frosted hair and the floor-length minks and the Coach bags and snap their fingers at me if they wanted to know the (exorbitant, by the way) price on something, and I'd just smile and say "right away" and "sure, no problem," but inside my head I always said to myself, "Get a job, lady," because it's not that I don't think staying home to mind the kids qualifies as a job -- I do, and it does. I just couldn't deal with the supercilious attitude from women who I knew had maids and nannies at home doing the cooking and the cleaning and the child supervising, and who clearly had zero memory of what it meant to work for a living, never mind the seventy-sixth circle of hell represented by working for a living in retail in a wealthy suburban town...God, I hated that job.