Previously: Jen and Sam kissed and immediately agreed to pretend it never happened, (as if that’s ever worked). Sam realized that Elizabeth’s fix-the-damaged-girl fetish is not the same as love and left her. And Kris proposed to Chris to make an honest woman out of her before the baby is born.
Jen and Sam are working hard at being Just Friends, drinking beer, playing darts and scoping out babes at Barry’s. Something about Sam’s kiss must have transferred her pick-up mojo to Jen because tonight, geektastic Jen is getting phone numbers left and right.
Not to be outdone by, my god, a cardigan and a panda shirt, Sam saunters over to a single lady, only to return five seconds later holding nothing more than her water and a grudge. What is going on?
Jen wonders if Sam’s mind is distracted by her recent break-up with Elizabeth. “Either that or it’s snowing in hell,” says Sam, astounded by her own lameness.
Three months later, Sam’s dry spell shows no signs of breaking. She’s starting to wonder if she’s half way to being a crazy cat lady. Jen assure her that, statistically speaking, it was bound to happen. And sometimes, you just get a bad run of cheaters, women in love with someone else, or moms. It’s not your fault, smelly cat.
Over at Kris and Chris’s house, they’re getting ready for the biggest day of their lives. No, it’s not Skins coming out on DVD, it’s their wedding day. After years of nesting bliss, launching a business together, and an insemination, the ladies are making it official in that not legal, unrecognized by any state or federal agency, not binding anywhere except in their own minds kind of way. They don’t share tax returns, and they also don’t share toothbrush cups.
Chris tells Kris to keep her Oral-B on her side of the bathroom counter, thank you very much. It’s just nerves. And good hygiene.
Downstairs, Sam and Jen are helping set up the food and such. The weather outside is stormy and ominous. It’s like rain on their wedding day. Isn’t it ironic? For the last time, no!
The definition of “ironic” doesn’t matter right now, because inside, the mood is sunny with a good chance of “I do.” Just as things are going smoothly, in walks Kris’s mother, Sheila, with a pile of CDs and a plan to fire Devin as the DJ. Who’s up for some Gordon Lightfoot?
Sperm daddy, Dr. Bob is there, along with Barry, Devin, and this woman, who Jen thinks just might be a perfect, easy lob to break Sam’s hitting slump.
Turns out, the lady likes shrimp more than sex on a stick, and after grabbing an hors d’oeuvre, she politely smiles and walks away from Sam as if she’s the caterer.
Devin can’t help but notice everything, and tells Sam and Jen she knows what’s wrong: Sam is giving off a vibe like she’s taken. I dunno. Maybe the mood is all wrong – Sheila is blasting rumba music and aggressively swinging Barry around like an inflatable sex doll named, Buck. Looks like someone’s been in the winter garden, enjoying her “basil.”