Also being terrible is “Clifford,” who brings Gladys to a deserted field to show off his patented beef tin bombs. What he literally does is build a cozy little fire and then knock a bomb out of her hands into the fire and then ruins her beautiful hat when he tries to shield her from the blast. If I didn’t already know how World War II ends, I would fear for the free world.
Back at the factory, Lorna steals the “deviant freak” letter from Betty’s file, but is caught in the act by Snaky Akins, who turns the damning document into the police. And I mean, I applaud Lorna’s effort, but why didn’t she burn the damn letter in the first place? She doesn’t know either.
At the Jewel Box, Ivan tries to come to terms with Kate’s real identity; the fact that her father didn’t save baby animals is a particularly hard blow. She explains that she was ashamed of where she comes from, and anyone who has seen the scars on her back should understand why. He smiles and offers what are possibly the least effective words of comfort of all time: “You’ll be a Buchinsky soon.”
I don’t know, prison might not be so bad.
They make plans to run away that very night.
The Hedley (we hardly knew ye!). The endless black tie gala that is the Witham’s existence. “Clifford,” who is just throwing anything and everything he has out there in an effort to get Gladys to sleep with him, tries belittling her in front of her parents. Shockingly, this fails to win her love. In the United States, this would be his third strike, but in Canada, where they lack baseball metaphors, he is allowed to just keep firing pucks at the net.
Also not getting any is the pint-sized soldier, who Vera allows into her boudoir. At first I was afraid that she was going to sleep with him, which would have been gross, but she just feeds him milk and cookies and reads him The Feminine Mystique as a bedtime story.
And they all lived happily ever after, in the land of Income Equality.