Well, and crazy. I can't wait to see what madness flowers bloomed in that wacky-ass head under Rudolfo's tutelage, and how that might interact with what seems to be her upcoming storyline. Something like when flesh hits acid, I'm thinking. So no, it's not comfortable for her to walk to work in heels, but it's no more comfortable for her to work at "Super Sneakers" in the first place, and the endgame is that Celia is suffering for her beliefs. Not, she explains -- with one million crucifixes around her neck! -- unlike Jesus. Whom Doug always thought wore Birkenstocks.
All alone, Andy's still moving in sync with Ms. Pac-Man, a modern woman who retains her independence as we all must do, by keeping her relationship status in doubt even as she takes her husband's name, because he understands her. He looks radically crazy at this point. The phone rings -- Oh! Andy has my phone! How neat for me! -- and it's Nancy, so he doesn't answer. She kicks down the door as it's going to voicemail, and enters the house, leaving a message as she walks closer and closer to him, begging him to turn and look at her.
"Yeah, hi Andy. It's me, Nancy. I thought maybe you'd pick up this time, but you're..." She steps closer, watching him play, "Probably really busy." She stands back-to-back with him, nearly touching him. "I think it sucks that you've been avoiding me, because I miss you." Nothing. "Despite what you might think. And I hoped that maybe by now you'd understand I'm doing the best I can? To deal with everything?" The tears spring up, but first the anger. Get it out. "Maybe that's asking too much. Oh yeah, guess what? Esteban asked me to marry him. I know, right? No more Nancy Botwin. Mrs. Esteban Reyes. Mrs. Somebody Somebodyelse." No response. She wavers, and finally says she'd normally be expecting jokes: outlaws/in-laws, or a fajita bar at the wedding. "Anyway. Call me? Come and see me. Hope you're good," she spits, feelings honestly hurt, and then pulls it together. Maybe humor.
"And... Please don't have a scraggly moonshiner beard. Unless you plan on starting a cult, in which case... go beard." This last almost silent, not a great exit, not a final line, not the drama she knows he needs, not the grand gesture. It's a gesture but it's not grand enough. Every avenue explored, she walks to the door, defeated, and waits just inside the door, for him to come. "Bye," she says then, out loud and to him directly for the first time, as she's leaving. And he stands at the game, hands gone slack, shaking, and looks at her as she's vanishing into the heat and the bright white sun, and he goes, "Fuck."