The episode begins in Los Angeles. Whitney and Sara are about to visit Sara’s traditional Portuguese parents in San Jose to tell them that they are engaged. Whitney’s main concern is looking presentable, so she puts on a flannel shirt and these shoes.
Sara laughs that the outfit makes Whitney look like a 15-year-old skater boy but that she looks hot. Ok, Avril.
As they walk out the door, the camera cuts to a leprechaun wearing rainbow knee highs.
Cory and Kaci are lying in bed with their cat, where they’ve been for a while mourning the loss of their baby. Every time I see Cory and Kaci scene I am in awe of their synergy and their undeniable love for each other. No amount of reality TV editing can create that bond. Each time I see them onscreen it’s like I’m looking at a unicorn, and I want to capture it and tell everyone, “Unicorns exist, and we should all be like them!”
3,000 miles away Lauren and Amanda have touched down in Brooklyn and are being driven to their destination in a BMW SUV. I wonder where they are staying. Showtime must be paying them big bucks if they are being chauffeured in a bimmer.
Turns out it’s a walk up apartment with pools of dog urine on the ground. Womp womp.
Here is the culprit, who promptly bites Amanda.
“Eh, too skinny. Maybe I’ll bite the other one instead.”
Lauren reiterates that she is excited that she and Amanda are finally single at the same time and that she is looking forward to having fun together in New York. I’m sure this also means fooling around in a shady apartment perfumed by eau de chien pisse. Hot.
Amanda showers and tells Lauren cryptically that she will be gone for an hour “to run errands.” She can’t get out of the apartment quickly enough. Is it the smell of dog pee driving her out, or is something else – or someone else – peeling her away from the ever vigilant Lauren?
Our favorite dysfunctional and Spartanly frugal family Hunter Valentine has also arrived in Brooklyn. Kiyomi says that while SXSW was a success, Somer had a few atrocious shows, which was frustrating. As they unload the van, someone notices that it smells like fish. I will bite my tongue so I am not banned from AfterEllen, Park Slope and Williamsburg.
Somer and Donna and their puppies reunite, and everyone is all smiles.
Then Somer tells us that she and Kiyomi still hasn’t had the “‘Yo, you cool, bro?’ ‘Yeah bro, we cool.’” talk, so she still doesn’t know where she stands in the band.
Next, Whitney and Sara pull up to Sara’s parents’ house, and immediately, the wine comes out.
“I couldn’t get wine into my body fast enough,” says a nervous Whitney.
Sara starts speaking to her parents in Portuguese.
“I came here to tell you something,” she said.
“Say anything as long as you’re not pregnant, Sara,” says her mom.
Sara laughs nervously and doesn’t say anything.
“Sara you are upsetting me,” says her mother.
Sara continues laughing. Is Whitney tickling her under the table?
OMG LOL! I think I’m dizzy! Is it morning sickness?
“I’m going to be very sad,” says her mother.
Sara continues to be overcome by a fit of giggles.
“What is it? You’re not expecting a baby are you?” says her mother, who begins to lose patience.
“[Whitney] asked me to marry her,” sputters Sara.
“Oh my god…” says her mother, who looks like she swallowed a fly in her wine.
Meanwhile, her dad looks like he is trying to suppress his own giggle fit. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
After a few moments, Sara’s mom tells her that while she still loves her, she is old fashioned and needs time to get used to it. Then she starts crying.
“So, yeah, I’m not 100% well versed in Portuguese, but I’m pretty well versed on the look of shock and dismay… and tears,” Whitney tells us. Well of course. Those were common emotions displayed by the girls she dated in Season 1 every time she walked into the room.
Sara’s mom tells Sara that all of this comes as a surprise.
Then her dad chimes in.”I’m not surprised!” he says.
“I love my daughter, and I will do everything to make her happy,” he tells us, cementing his position as San Jose PFLAG parent of the year.