Donna smiles and glides over. She sits down, saying, "That's very nice of you. I probably shouldn't drink, though." C.J., still futzing around trying to open the bottle, says, "I wouldn't worry about it." Amy slurs, "Canadian, huh?" That should be "Canadian, eh?" Donna, sadly: "Yeah." Amy: "You feel funnier?" Donna: "No, but I am developing a massive inferiority complex." Hee. It's a tired joke, but God knows there's some truth to it. And hey, this inferiority complex will go great with the one you already have. Now it's a matched set. C.J. is finally triumphant: "Ah!" Abby: "Did it come out?" C.J.: "Next best thing: it's in the bottle." Abby: "We'll decant it!" My God, her surgical brain is a wonder to behold. I guess I can cut her some slack: she's half-woofled and depressed to boot. Amy slides her butt off the arm off the sofa down onto the seat cushion and says, "Now it's a party." Well, they should be good and smashed by the time we get back to them.