Just another normal morning at the Isles-Rizzoli Estates. I’ve added the hyphenate because even if Jane insists on holding onto her bachelor pad, let’s get serious, they’re going to raise a baby together so who are we fooling? Mama Rizzoli is checking her datebook as Jane pour herself some coffee. But the domestic tranquility is short-lived as Mama R yells out to Maura asking for the date of Jane’s next OBGYN appointment Keep in mind, Jane is right there standing behind her. But a mother-in-law knows exactly who to ask the important questions in a relationship.
Maura walks in and kindly tells Mama R she is relieved of back-up duty, since she will take Jane to her appointment. Girlfriend job vs. wife job, defined. Again, keep in mind Jane is right there and also a grown-ass woman capable of going to the doctor by herself. Maura says as a doctor she is better suited to look after Jane’s healthcare needs and as a watchful girlfriend to back the fuck off. Supposedly it’s not territoriality, but classic avoidance that has Dr. Isles in a tizzy. She is trying to get out of her impending lecture series at the BCU medical school.
The nervous genius? This is an interesting, unexplored side to our good doctor. Though, given that she is a perfectionist, I can understand. Perfectionists don’t want to do anything unless they can be the best.
OK, sorry, enough psychoanalysis. Jane cuts through it as well, because while she may not be able to go to the doctor by herself she is capable of diagnosis girlfriend BS. She says, “Not so fast, professor” as she saunters over all sexylike to Maura and asks her why she is ruining her “hot for teacher” fantasies. Maura says is going because “of my love and devotion for you above all else.” At this point I’m temped to just drop my laptop on the ground and be like, “Recapper, out!”
Granted, everyone has used the old, “Because I love youuuu”-excuse on her girlfriend as a way out of an uncomfortable situation. Jane is like, “Nope, nice try. Though you can use that later as a voucher for sex. What’s the real reason?” Maura finally confesses it is because the department head was so impressed by her syllabus he wants to turn her seminars into a class for credit. Which means she would have to give grades which means she would have to relive her traumatic A- in biochemistry incident from 1996. Girl, I feel you. I have a traumatic A- geometry incident in my past I have never gotten over.
Maura doesn’t want to crush young minds and spirits, but Jane gives her a pep talk along the lines of “Grade hard, saves lives.” They’re in med school. Grade inflation means someone removes the wrong organ during a routine operation. The future security of our healthcare system gets interrupted by a phone call. Maura answers and it’s the governor. Once Jane and Maura are officially married, I imagine he’ll have Jane’s number on speed dial as well. He wants Maura to officiate the death certificate of a well-known philanthropist (read: Rich Old Lady) who seems to have succumb to ovarian cancer.
Maura asks if Jane wants to give her a lift there. Jane asks how long “facilitating” takes. Good girlfriend politeness only stretches so far. Maura promises 15 minutes so Jane acquiesces. But then Maura tells her no Downton Abbey jokes, and Jane can’t comply. Instead she curtsies and opens the doors with a subservient flourish. Yeah, that’s right, bow before dat ass.
So much more of Angie has been leaking through into Jane this season. I credit the imaginary pregnancy hormones.
They arrive at what can only accurately be described as the manor and Jane commits her first upper-crust faux pas by intentionally using the ornate decorative oversized doorknocker. Say ornate decorative oversized doorknocker three times fast. Maura tsk-tsks her and rings the doorbell instead, which makes some insane ostentatious chiming of the bells sound. They look at each other like, “Oy, 1 percenters.”
Then Jane gasps, because she left her monocle in the car. How will she telegraph surprise now? Who will know if it doesn’t pop out of her eye socket? Maura chuckles, but says, “Your snarky remarks are rife with errors.” Is it wrong to think she’s criticizing my grammar skills here? I’m not paranoid, you’re paranoid. She tells Jane it would be her “eye orbit, not socket.” And then she dismantles the historical accuracy of wearing a monocle during 1912, when Downton Abbey is set so “the joke is on you!” Could she be more adorable? No, historically, grammatically, mathematically speaking, she could not.