Previously on Time of Your Life, Flynn tells Sarah how much her life sucks, J.B. justifies his gigolo lifestyle to Romy, and Mollie comes to stay and take over Romy's life. I really don't think it's a very good idea for the show to remind us week after week how awful each preceding episode has been. It's like when Friends reruns are on and you are reminded of how terrible the show has become in recent days. Except in the case of TOYL, there never were any good ol' days.
Mollie is sitting at a diner counter with Maguire Scraggle Rock, as he scribbles something down for her. She squeals over how awful his drawing is: "I'm supposed to rent a place based on this?" There's a loud slurping nose, but contrary to popular belief, it's not the show being sucked further down the rusted pipe of obscurity -- it's only Romy the Duck Billed Platypus scarfing up a milk shake. Scraggle and Mollie both give Platypus the hairy eyeball as she says, "I'm sorry, but you're taking care of all of this for her?" Scraggle says it's difficult to find a sublet on your own. Yeah, especially when you don't show up on your dead mother's doorstep getting sentimental about where you were conceived. Mollie turns her back on Platypus and asks Scraggle if $800 a month is too much to spend on an apartment. Twelve episodes into the show and the writers finally start to get realistic about rent in New York. Too little, too late. Platypus starts to offer her services to Mollie, but Mollie interrupts her and asks Scraggle to take her to see it first thing in the morning. Scraggle willingly agrees, and Mollie takes his hand, telling him she feels so much safer knowing someone in the apartment building. Flirtatiously, Mollie asks if Scraggle changes light bulbs and kills spiders. What a wimp. Platypus reaches across their mini-embrace and grabs a handful of Mollie's fries. Just at this moment, Sarah runs in out of breath and babbles, "Okay, I know this may be the most pathetic thing ever [is she talking about her being the Executive Producer of this show?], but I just picked up the new copy of The Village Voice: 'Open call for two female singers for radio spot promoting long-standing New York service establishment.' I thought we could do it together!" Sarah looks to Platypus. "Jingle singers?" Platypus looks skeptical as she scrutinizes the listing. Her shoulders drop in disappointment, "I can't. It's non-union. See, I'm SAG, I'm not allowed." How is she SAG? Don't you actually have to be a, um, I don't know, screen actor to be in the Screen Actors Guild? Don't tell me her non-speaking role on a soap and her two commercials qualify her, because if so, that's just pathetic. And while we're on the subject of faking it, what's up with Platypus' throw-back-to-the-fifties knotted scarf around her neck while "Sh-boom, Sh-boom" plays in the background? Sarah shrugs and says, "Oh, well." But then, Mollie Pitcher Out the Window volunteers her services, saying she's trying to be a singer anyway and isn't dragged down by any old union ties. Platypus looks like she sucked all the juice out of a lemon. "'Long-standing New York service establishment' -- what does that mean? That sounds vaguely illegal, like a whore-house or something." Sarah says she doubts whorehouses advertise on the radio. Platypus starts to say that it won't look good on a resumé, but Mollie interrupts by asking Sarah if she's more of an alto or a soprano. I think Sarah's more like a sopranot. Mollie and Sarah move away from the counter to discuss their little venture, and Scraggle sappily says something about it being nice when things just work out. Platypus glares at him and stuffs another handful of Mollie's fries in her mouth. Scraggle frowns and says accusingly, "I thought you were watching your weight." Who is he anyway, Mother Maguire? If any friend of mine, male or female said that to me they'd be looking at the messier end of a hissyfit and suddenly find themselves slapped into the middle of next week. Platypus fixes him with a look and just shakes her head. In the middle of all of this, the captioning says, "Mollie: La La La La La La La," and is surrounded by musical notes -- glad that sound didn't actually make it through the jukebox music.