Melfi points out that "the Prozac seems to be working"; Tony admits that "that might be the problem -- it might be working a little overtime." Melfi doesn't say anything. Tony reluctantly says, "I'm having a " "Reaction?" Melfi interrupts. "A side effect," Tony mutters. "From the stuff." Melfi reminds him that they discussed that when he started the medication, and she lists various possible side effects, none of which includes impotence, but says that they usually pass. "Are there any other side effects that you know of?" Tony asks pointedly. Melfi says that some people "experience a diminished libido; they have trouble getting or maintaining a --" "Bingo," Tony interrupts grimly. "You know, not all impotence is a result of the medication," Melfi says. "You saying there's something wrong with me?" Tony asks, smiling a not-really-a-smile smile. Melfi asks when Tony last had a prostate exam, and when Tony cracks that he doesn't even let anyone wag a finger in his face, Melfi bursts out laughing, then quickly apologizes and tries to calm herself. "Don't apologize," Tony says, smiling for real now. "You got a nice laugh. Hey, I'm serious," he smiles some more. Melfi is in serious mode again herself, and informs Tony that "depression is also a leading factor in impotence." She asks if he ever awakens with an erection in the morning or in the middle of the night; Tony tells her that "you could set your clock to it." Oh, could I? Please? In the words of Cliff Pantone, that was an overshare. ["Yeah, and much as he wants to, poor Tony can neither knock them down, nor roll them around." -- Wing Chun] I think Tony's trying to make her laugh again, but it doesn't work; Melfi says evenly, "Okay, so we know it's not a physical problem." Tony looks irritated by this revelation.
A Roche Bobois truck unloads furniture in front of Casa Soprano. Yet another detail that proves the writers really do their homework: the Roche Bobois furniture. New Jersey Mafia wives have a certain unmistakable decorating style -- usually involving a great deal of mint green carpeting and peach silk and roughly a metric ton of black marble and brass -- and nothing epitomizes that style quite like a Roche Bobois living room set, which costs a small fortune and yet still manages to look utterly déclassé. Anyway, Carmela, kitted out in a taupe pantsuit from TJ Maxx, comes out and directs the moving men. Tony walks up and wants to know what the hell is going on, and Carmela says matter-of-factly that she ordered some new furniture. "Some"? The lawn looks like the scene from Risky Business when Guido The Pimp unloads the whole house in the front yard and doesn't help Joel move any of it back inside. Tony sarcastically suggests that they just move into Roche Bobois and save the delivery charge; Carmela shrugs frostily, "Fine. I'll send it back." "No, but you've been spendin' like a drunken sailor all last week," Tony grumbles. "I said I'll send it back," grouses Saint Carmela. Tony leans into her face and spits, "Mother a Christ, Carmela -- I didn't say that, did I? Jesus," and stomps into the house. Carmela looks smug and continues to oversee the furniture movers.