Hilda has apparently only gotten half the point that Karate Kutie tried to get across -- yes, she can legitimize her home business by deriving 30% of her profits from merchandising, but... I don't think selling illegal Chinatown knockoffs from that well-known atelier PLADA is really what he had in mind. Betty, being as we all know a first-class G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S label queen, turns up her nose at the PLADA handbags and shades. Just not up to her high fashion Mode tastes. Hilda's like, "As though my trashy clients will notice, these sunglasses were $2 a pair." Hilda, sometimes your hustler nature and survivor scrappiness actually do make you look sort of vaguely disgusting, mostly when you fall into the Flushing trap of animal prints, and yet I cannot in good conscience advise, obviously, that you do anything but the opposite of what Betty says.

This snootitude would be funny of Betty any day -- because God knows without compassionate guidance she'd be wearing them on her head or as giant hideous necklaces -- but is especially retarded today, because she's wearing pointy puffed sleeves like a creepy-bisexual/dominatrix-vibe villain from the Planet Mongo, in a psychedelic flower print, over a purple turtleneck. It's like her usual hideous clothing is feeling whimsical and decided to wear a costume over itself. And then of course her Anne Boleyn "B" necklace, because sometimes you just need to accessorize a bit more, and on top of it all the big wide green butterfly belt cinching all that shit together. I wish this outfit and Claire Meade's Pip Pip Mad Hatter Old Chum number from last week would get a spinoff series where they roam around in a old schoolbus, blowing people's minds.

Betty's out of OJ, and whines about how living with Amanda has done the opposite of the money-saving roommate thing she's heard of, and no matter how much she labels her food and juices, Amanda does not seem to notice. Hilda asks if she's been contributing meaningfully in any way -- supplementary to the MacArthur Genius Grant that is her very presence, I suppose -- and Betty says she's "hinted," which you know is Betty-speak for "No, because I am weak of spine, but I do sit around feeling resentful and horrible inside, which counts for something." Hilda suggests she try the pithy and always successful, "Where's my rent, bitch," which I guess she picked up from Justin, and Betty goes on a spiel about how yes, Amanda has made poor choices and racked up debt, etc., but she's not... I don't know how on Earth Betty would have managed to make her sunshine-and-duckies conclusion here, but thank God it's Amanda.