Judging Amy
Not With A Whimper

Episode Report Card
Not With A Whimper

Back at the Ranch, Maxine is fiddling with the highboy in the hall. She tries to move it herself, but ends up banging her head, hard, on the underside of the top drawer. That's gonna leave a mark.

The next morning, Amy yells at her lawyer over the phone about the fact that the divorce is taking so long. After verbally bitch-slapping the woman, she hangs up and turns solicitously to inquire after Maxine's health. Maxine claims to be fine, but Amy, feeling her mother's scalp, worries that Maxine ought to go to the doctor. You know, Amy, all of this is due to your vanity. You should have helped your old mother, who is allowing you to live at her home almost rent free, to move the damn furniture. Maxine tells Amy she didn't want to wait for Amy to help her, because she is used to being able to do things herself. Amy mournfully informs Lauren's lunch that Maxine could have been killed. Maxine changes the subject and comments that Michael looked well. Amy bitches that he has no reason not to look well, because he's found "the perfect woman," whilst she is stuck dating cretins. Maxine looks concerned and starts "Amy, you need" -- but Amy knows where this is going. "To have sex! I know, I'm working on it!" she whines. Maxine looks taken aback, and tells her daughter that, actually, she just needs to go to the market. They laugh.

Vincent enters the Rancherito, looking like death warmed over. Donna exposits that "the night shift's a killer," and tells Vincent that Amy's ordered her to stay home until her hands improve. She gets all excited, thinking about all the fun they can have while they're both at home during the day. Vincent moans that he just wants to sleep. He conks out right there on the sofa.

Maxine picks up a small boy at the airport. He stowed away on a plane from Cincinnati. The police who hand him off to Maxine tell her that they plan to charge him with stealing the equivalent of a $700 ticket. She tells them to sod off. I elect myself president of the No One Cares About This Story Line Club.

Vincent sleeps, face down, on his sofa. One side of his face is all squished up. I predict he will have little sofa-wrinkles in his cheek when he wakes up. Donna whispers his name, and pokes him. He wakes up with a start; he's got an urgent phone call from Peter, in Florida. Vincent looks so sweet and confused and half-asleep. He answers the phone.

Peter is, oh God, no, in a gray wife-beater tank and flowered -- are they? Sweet Jesus, I think he's wearing Jams. This must be Florida. Gillian, in the background, furiously packs their bags. Peter barks that Evie is in labor. Vincent is bemusedly congratulatory. Peter tells Vincent that they're hopping on the next flight to Connecticut, but that he has to go pick up Evie and take her to the hospital. Vincent, still sleepy, reasons that maybe Peter ought to have Maxine do it. Or an ambulance. Peter snaps that Evie doesn't like Maxine, and that she's expecting Vincent. Gillian grabs the phone from her husband and demands "Vincent! Go! Now!" Vincent hangs up the phone and wearily tells Donna that he's "just found something [they] can do together today." She's so there.

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Judging Amy




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