Carmela heads into the kitchen, and Tony follows, trying to put a positive spin on these developments. "We played that just right," he declares, but she rather pointedly ignores him. Tony also thinks that AJ's time with his father "whipped him into shape a little." Yeah. If that shape is a sphere, maybe.
Satriale's. Wide Guy is quizzing Diet Tony on his flashcards. Question: "Which muscles attach to the coracoid process?" Before we can get an answer, though, Paulie and Chris show up. Chris cracks jokes to the effect that it's like study hall all over again, but Paulie has more prosaic concerns on his mind: "[Wide Guy]," he demands, "where the fuck is my Tupperware?" Heh. Wide Guy assures him that it'll be delivered that afternoon, and then Diet Tony correctly gets two out of the three muscles (Pectoralis Minor and Coracobrachialis). He's stumped on the third, however, prompting Wide Guy to observe that even he knows the answer (Biceps). And by "knows," I can only assume he means that he's read about it on the internet, because God knows he's certainly never seen his own muscles. A quick Google search confirms that the script supervisor did a quick Google search to make sure they answered that question correctly, by the way. Apropos of almost nothing, Chris takes this opportunity to offer up another AA koan: "Fear knocked at the door. Faith answered. There was no one there." Uh huh. What is the sound of one emotion knocking, anyway? And if no one cares, does it make any sound at all? Paulie still can't understand why Diet Tony would be interested in making a career out of touching strangers, which causes Wide Guy to observe that he really "skeeves the human body." Paulie then offers a koan of his own: "Why do pissing, shitting, and fucking all happen within in a two-inch radius?" I don't know the answer to that one, but I also don't believe that Paulie knows what a radius is. Wide Guy doesn't know either, but he does point out that all three are sources of pleasure. Heh. Diet Tony tells the gang all about Mr. Kim and the massage ghageh, but Paulie is peeved that Tony didn't come to him first for a loan. Or a koan. "Word to the wise," he intones. "Remember Pearl Harbor." Hmm. Do I make a Paulie is stupid joke here, or a somewhat more timely "Remember The Alamo, because apparently no one else does" joke instead?
Bob and Carmela are walking back to his car after their date. She's got one of those fancy aluminum foil ducks filled with leftovers, which will be mildly important later on. Once they're in the car, Bob reaches to grab something out of the back seat, and a clearly anxious Carmela flinches like he was about to kiss her. Heh. But don't feel too bad, Carm; I'd have had the same reaction. Instead of a kiss, Bob gives her a "first edition" of Madame Bovary. Well, a "Modern Library" first edition, at any rate (published in 1993). And that would totally be the perfect gift, too, if it weren't for the fact that it's horribly patronizing and Carmela already said she didn't like the book anyway. But even so, she's still got more opinions to share: "Honestly, though, I don't know. The story is very slow. Nothing really happens." Oh, David. You just can't let it go, can you? "I think he could have said what he had to say with a lot less words," she adds. Hmm. Okay, how about this: Season 4 sucked. Satisfied? Bob pontificates that much of the action in the book was internal, and then heartily recommends a repeat viewing to catch all the nuances. In a surprising display of proper product-placement decorum, he completely fails to hold up a set of the Season 4 DVDs as he speaks. Wow. If this had been Oz, he'd have whipped out the box set and proclaimed it the greatest work of art ever created. And then he would have sodomized Carmela with Disc 2. But this is The Sopranos, so Carmela instead agrees that the "first edition" would be "a wonderful thing to have in a den," and you can actually see her mentally planning to shelve it right between the Lladros and the wrought-iron musical staff. ["True. And my heart broke again." -- Wing Chun] And then Bob finally does move in for a real kiss, but Carmela confesses that she doesn't "do this" a lot. She gets all nervous and babbly, so Bob just leans in and plants one on her. When they finally pull apart, Carmela goes on to admit that she hasn't "been with anyone." "You're a virgin?" he smarms. "This is my lucky night." Ew. Shut up, Bob. And stop staring at the sophomores like that. I will, however, note that Carmela's inexperience in these matters is obvious, and we'll be talking a lot more about it as the evening wears on.