Morning dawns Chez Pearlman. Rhonda, still in her pyjama camisole, stalks into the bedroom, crabbing that last McNulty was "too drunk to fuck," and today, he's "too hung-over." She tears the sheet off his pitifully sleeping body, a gorgeous cheesecake shot of McNulty's perfectly round, peachlike bum. Well done, West. And West's trainer. McNulty rouses himself just enough to pull the sheet back up as Rhonda flops down next to him, asking, "What's the most useless thing on a woman?" The captions have McNulty muttering, "What," but you can actually barely hear him. Rhonda: "A drunken Irishman." Is there any other kind? McNulty groans gutturally. "But you're not really Irish, are you?" muses Rhonda. McNulty: "I had fourteen shots of Jameson. How's that for green?" Rhonda tells him he's an idiot: "Who does fourteen shots?" McNulty doesn't react, so Rhonda smacks him on the arm: "You're a child." Now well into a fit of pique, Rhonda tries to get back up, but McNulty manages to grab her around the waist and pull her back a few times before she finally breaks free of his kung fu grip and stalks to the foot of the bed, where she warns, "Show up at my door at 2 AM again without an invitation, and I will call the cops." "Why would you want to do that?" drawls McNulty, rolling over so we can see where he drooled all over what are probably Rhonda's very expensive, high-thread-count sheets. He smirks to himself, eyes closed again, and Rhonda asks, "Am I your girlfriend? No. Your wife? No. Your soulmate? No." She shrugs. "What the fuck am I, Jimmy?" McNulty doesn't take any of this too seriously, and smirks again as he replies, "We're good together." Rhonda stares at him incredulously, and then comes back into the room and kneels next to his side of the bed: "Answer the question." McNulty opens his eyes (as much as he's physically able to at this moment, which is: not much), rubs Rhonda's arm, and murmurs, "I've been pretty honest with you. [If] my wife wants to put it back together again, I'm gonna go for it, right?" He gives her arm another squeeze, I suppose to soften the blow of what he's saying. "You know, with the kids and all." Rhonda glares at him for a second, and then storms out to her walk-in closet (ooh, that bitch -- and she doesn't have to share it, either). I guess that was the kindest thing McNulty could have done -- though why Rhonda's surprised, I'm not quite sure. However, he kind of loses points when he ignores her storm-off and asks her for some aspirin. She slams the door to him and stare at herself in the mirror, thinking what other former member of the detail she might like to get with to make McNulty jealous. (Kima?)