As it turns out, ABC recruited George Michael for the wrong show. Last night on Desperate Housewives, the women were supposed to learn a lesson about faith. But I’m not entirely positive that they learned anything. They so rarely do. If only they had to suffer through a Mary Alice voiceover…that would teach them.
They learned about faith in God. Faith in the strength of friendship. Faith that even if you’re a middle-aged divorcee, you can still have a romp with your neighbor’s underage cousin. Faith that no one will discover the grave of your ex-husband, even though it’s marked with a damning cross, or a giant X-marks-the-spot-where-I-buried-the-body-of-the-guy-I-killed. Faith that your daughter won’t put the pieces together — literally, I mean pull them from the fireplace and tape them together — and figure out you’re a lyin’, cheatin’ murderer. Faith that you can wear that much red and still look innocent. That’s right, Katherine. I’m on to you. The housewives are no strangers to crime — murder, arson, adultery, breaking and entering, extortion, child abandonment, theft, pregnancy fraud, assault with muffins and jam — but they must have missed the class on the proper disposal of evidence. Katherine, burning notes in the fireplace? Marking your ex-husband’s grave? Always outfitted in devilish red attire? Sleeping with kids in band camp? Even dimwitted Dylan sensed something was up. In the words of Saint Susan, ”Shame on you!” (Oh, can it, Susan.)
Creepy cousin Chris Carmack made his triumphant return to television last night, first to do Susan’s taxes, and then to do her neighbor. At first, Susan was worried that Timmy might be a sexual predator — it was his lovely tale of banging his boss’ daughter that tipped her off. But it was totally legal, because the girl was 18, and, like, he checked with a lawyer before he went for it, so it’s morally sound and completely justified and not at all creepy. Congrats, Timmy. At least some people on Wisteria Lane were covering all their bases. But instead of kicking him out, Susan let Timmy stick around, sleeping a few feet away from her teenage daughter. I mean, those taxes weren’t just gonna do themselves, right? Also making his triumphant return was Mike, who regaled his family with quips about being a drug user: ”This junkie thing’s awesome!” No, Mike, it’s not. When you were in rehab off camera, when your character was almost believable, when Susan only referred to you once or twice an episode just so we didn’t think you were dead, that was awesome. ”You’re making me want to use again, Susan.” The funniest part was that I don’t think he was kidding. But Susan and Julie laughed and laughed. She was really upbeat, considering she’s got a husband in rehab, she’s having a baby over the age of 40, her cousin is probably a sex offender, and she hasn’t finished filing her taxes. Maybe Susan’s on drugs.
Also getting high was Lynette. Not the illegal kind of high, though — uplifted through spiritual faith and divine inspiration. She announced to her family that they were going to church, and the Scavo clan all but boo’ed in her face. ”God will be there next Sunday,” Tom whined from his recliner, beer in hand, watching the game as his children ran amok. Apparently the Scavos worship beer and ball, just not birth control. After twin one (that’s his name, right?) claimed that Jesus was one of the guys who helped Santa tune up his sled and worked in the Lincoln Log section of the North Pole toy factory, or something to that effect, the decision to go to church was made. But which faith to pick at the religious buffet-style brunch? At first they considered Catholicism, but Bree set Lynette straight: ”I go for worship, not a workout.” All the kneeling, standing, sitting…Catholics only wind up with paralyzing guilt and killer thighs. I wonder why the other women go to church. I bet Edie goes to seduce the priests. Or the altar boys. Susan probably goes for the free bread. I bet Katherine goes and lights a candle and whispers, ”I pray that no one finds out about my deepest secret, the mortal sin I committed long, long ago” while Dylan stands beside her, oblivious. We know Gaby only shows up, late, when she wants to get married, once every six months. Mrs. McCluskey goes to pray for the fate of Ida’s long lost cat. And for the souls of the gay neighbors. Anyway.
Lynette tagged along with Bree to her Presbyterian church, where the minister proclaimed that ”God’s love is as sure as the sunlight.” Lynette wasn’t so sure. What about the wars? The ”dumbass killers”? Try seeing the sun through a tornado! Where was God’s love when my husband threw his back out and I had to bust my ass baking pizzas all day? Where was God’s love when I got cancer and those possums were running rampant through my backyard? Huh?! The minister fielded Lynette’s questions, while Bree slouched in embarrassment. Afterward, Bree suggested that Lynette try worshiping at the gospel church instead, the one right near the airport, you know, probably across the street from the seedy clinic where she once sent Susan for prenatal care, around the block from where Mike scored painkillers. I thought Bree was being selfish; she’d probably turn down God’s love if the devil offered her the head position in the ladies auxiliary. But I didn’t like the ”holier than thou” attitude Lynette took with Bree. It was ironic, considering Lynette deemed herself the least holy housewife on the block. She’s a front-runner, but I thought that distinction definitely went to Gaby.
NEXT: Speaking of Gaby…