We open on Betty and Henry having an intimate conversation about their personal relationship. And as most people do these days, they’re having it by cell phone. On public transportation. Which I’m sure pleases their fellow passengers to no end.

They decide that since Henry will be around for another five months before going back to Tucson to spend the rest of his life raising a child with a deceitful slut he utterly loathes (just think what a wonderful childhood Henry Jr. has in store), it would be best for them to avoid one another.

Then they realize they’re riding the same bus, so you can imagine how well this avoidance plan is going to work out.

Casa Suarez. Hilda tells Papi she can’t stick around for breakfast because it’s the day she goes to the cemetery to do Lotto scratches with Santos. Don’t do it, Hilda! You know Santos is just going to blow his half of the winnings on chicks and embalming fluid.

Evil Twin Justin gets his mother to sign a mysterious piece of paper and then gets ready to motor, surprising Papi by announcing he doesn’t even care about auditioning for the school production of The Music Man. On this front, I am in total agreement. I’m as big a show queen as they come, but I’ve always hated that show. Something about all that “Starts with T and T rhymes with P” pitter-patter irritates the hell out of me. It’s like Broadway’s first all-rap musical.

Papi reminds Justin that he’s the president of the drama club, but Justin just doesn’t care and heads out. Wow, a president who pursues his own agenda without any concern for the interests of the people who elected him. Nope, never heard of anyone like that before.

After he’s gone, Papi criticizes Hilda for not even knowing what kind of paper she signed for him. “Maybe it was for mail order crack,” she jokes.

I hope not. You think you’re saving with those drug-by-mail companies, but they make you buy everything in bulk. Better off sticking with your trusty neighborhood crack dealer.

Cut to the Tweener Tramp who Justin was making out with last week, camped out on his stoop. She’s blowing a huge bubble, and I’m hoping it will just get bigger and bigger until it totally engulfs her, like a futuristic prison cell.

Evil Justin comes out of the house, and it looks like he’s formed himself a gang. Darned if they aren’t the cutest little group of hoodlums you’ve ever seen in your life. It’s like watching a remake of The Outsiders performed by the Little Rascals. Since Hilda unwittingly signed a note getting Justin out of the school field trip, they have the whole day free for acts of wilding.

The Halls of Mode. Which bear an uncanny resemblance to those “Halls of Medicine” commercials. I love those ads. Wouldn’t it be nice if all it took to cure a cold was a swift walk down a gleaming tile hallway?

Betty tells Daniel that Kathy Griffin’s been calling begging for a date. Oh please. Daniel should be so lucky. The woman is a goddess. Also, Bradford wants Daniel and Alexis to come over for dinner, leading Daniel to moan about having to spend time with his wicked stepmonster.

They arrive outside of Wili’s office, where a small group including Henry is sitting in folding chairs in a circle. It’s like a 12-step meeting for dorks addicted to backstabbing hussies.

Although Betty tries her best to arrange the seating differently, she winds up right next to Henry, and the two spend the entire meeting like toddler siblings on a long car trip – “You’re touching my leg.” “Stay on your own side.” “You’ve got cooties.” “Your cooties have cooties.” – You know, that sort of mature behavior.

The big news of the meeting is that, after Atlantic Attire and all the other advertisers pulled out, Mode is now on the verge of bankruptcy. I’d think this would be the perfect time to do a bunch of Crazy Eddie commercials offering “going-out-of-business subscriptions so low IT’S INSANE!!!”

Cut to the Hamptons. The Fish Monger comes in wearing a skimpy belly-bearing tennis outfit unfit not only for tennis but even for the privacy of one’s own home. Or the home wherever one is illegally squatting.

Claire: Yoga, I’ve been drinking … I mean, thinking. Actually, they’re both right.

Add writing to that list and it perfectly sums me up right at this very moment.