TVSquad

I just had to laugh, when Betty Applewhite and her son are carrying on about appearing normal, not attracting attention. In this neighborhood? Nothing's normal. A little bloodstain here and there... gardeners sleeping with clients old enough to be their mothers ... a little run-of-the-mill vandalism (escape by Alfa Romeo) ... catfights in front of your teenage daughter ... and devious hot coffee sabotage.

And can I just say that Lynette is hot in her work clothes? It's almost enough to make me want to get a real day job (almost). I'm drooling over her perfectly tailored, drapy wool gabardine in that midnight blue, her fab hair in that twisty bun, wow. But Bree couldn't look more gaunt and severe and emotionless in her endless black clothes. Her hair is pulled back so tight she must have used pliers to get every hair into place. And while we're talking about how people look - umm, Gabrielle should be showing by now. Her tummy is still as taut as a yoga teacher's. Her breasts are no bigger than they ever were. When is she going to pop? Just a tad bit of realism would be nice here...

I think Susan has hit a new low with her ridiculous and terrifically petty ultimatum with her daughter. Not that Edie is any better - she may even be worse, actually. But... in what world is it OK to make your daughter choose between you and her dad's girlfriend? Over a stupid church talent show? I was so disgusted with her I was almost angry, over a completely made-up person's foibles. It did set up a couple of great lines, though, like Edie: "and this is church, so you know they're going to be judging you!" Haha.

And oh yeah - we see the guy in the basement. He's very definitely Mr. Applewhite, and he's a violent one. Although Betty seems more than capable of handling him. I wondered if he had died from her amazing pistolwhip, but no. He's still being handed his meals on a silver tray. But we're no closer to knowing what, exactly, got him socked away in the basement to begin with.

Then there's Gabrielle - oh, poor Gabrielle. Who loves her? It's not John, I guess. She's so simultaneously pathetic and bathetic (it's Greek, people) when she teases her husband with tales of how well John loved her - and then finds out he's sleeping with the un-lovely 41-year-old neighbor. He deserved worse than having her cut up his mistress' shrubs, and then blow him off tritely on the steps. I found that scene highly un-dramatic. Bor-ing.

I love the relationship that's developing between Lynette and her boss, and I adore the metrosexual receptionists. They're a brilliant casting move. But I don't have time to do that plotline justice so I'm moving on to Bree.

How could you, Bree, you coldhearted robot of a woman, HOW COULD YOU think that you're in love with that evil pharmacist just because the dumb lie detector test went all wacky when they asked you that? Have you never heard that episode on This American Life where a perfectly decent, upstanding applicant convinces himself that he's looked at kiddie porn - just because he's under so much pressure from the truth-tellers? And clearly lie detector tests are not without fail, oh no. Your soon-to-be boyfriend gets off scot-free because he knows what he wants: it's you. And he lies like a champ to prove it.

Note to self: never believe that I don't love my husband just because I'm flustered when I'm asked the question. Oh, Bree. That lie detector couldn't tell you the real truth: that you can't trust your own emotions.