Home On Deranged

Episode Report Card
Djb: B+ | Grade It Now!
Save The Drama For Yo Mama

On a gentle sloping hill in an open field under an oak grove ("I've got a wonderful feeeeeeeeeeeeeling!"), Meredith and Matthew cuddle on a picnic blanket drinking wine. Hey, isn't this show way too classy for them to be drinking wine out of a box? Oh, wait. That's not a box of wine at all! It's just time for the perfunctory joke about Matthew's geometrically perfect square head. But box or bottle or Boon's or whatever, the devil's poison is quick to go to his head, and Matthew jumps off the blanket and makes his way to a nearby swing affixed to a nearby tree, telling us, "I want [Meredith] to see the real side of me that's going to come out at a place like this where I feel at home." He swings back and forth above her head and she laughs in that increasingly familiar Are You Being Punk'd kind of way. Matthew swings and swings without a care, reaching heights that might allow him to say, "Hey you know what? I could call my ma while I'm up here. Hey, ma! Get off the dang roof!" Or some such thing. In her confessional, Meredith tells us, "I could just imagine [Matthew] as a little boy." Do you think it has anything to do with his partaking of the activities of a little boy, perhaps? I'm just saying, Meredith, it's cute now, but when you're down to the wire and your main question is "Will you accept this rose?" and he answers questions with questions when he volleys back "You wanna build a fort?," let's just see how this makes you feel. And I would once have advised you to run. But that was before the other hometown dates. After which your only question might be, "Should the fort be made with pillows or blankets?" Both, Meredith. It should be made with both.

Matthew takes another sip of wine and voices over his family relations: "My parents are divorced." Well, no wonder it's so hot down here. It's because the poor bastard child is halfway to Hell! Of course, I kid. I too am the victim of a broken home, and I know it's no laughing matter, unless, of course, your parents are getting divorced and they're clowns. Because then the only thing that gets thrown are cream pies and dad's big, red nose isn't from long nights hitting the sauce when he didn't show up for three days and you'd start to wonder if it was your fault for driving him away when you asked for a pony for Christmas. Meh. I'll save it for therapy. Matthew, however, seems unencumbered by such knotty emotional entanglements, as he assures us that he's well-adjusted enough to see his parents' divorce as a learning experience, preaching, "It's made me be very careful about who [sic] I spend my time with." Meanwhile, two hundred and sixty miles north on Interstate 45, Lanny's mother involuntarily "tsks" so hard she accidentally knocks herself off of her chair.

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