Poor Mario wasn’t ready for his moment. Ramona had stormed off at the party, having had her shrieking say with Heather. Now she wanted a bottle for her and one for Sonja and they were going to bother the host to put Katy Perry on the stereo so they could dance on a sofa. That meant Heather was left bemoaning Ramona’s idiocy to an increasingly flummoxed Mario. “She’s not a crazy person,” he insisted lamely. “We blew a peace whistle,” said Heather, who’s finally dropping her false equanimity and telling it like it is. “Clearly it was a bunch of bullshit.” (Should’ve used a pipe.) Mario smirked and waggled his eyebrows and shrugged. From the other end of the room Ramona hollered that she didn’t need anyone to fight her bottles. See? Not crazy. Finally Reid had had enough. “Mario, what do you care? What you getting involved in this for?” Mario didn’t have an answer to that but Aviva sure did. “He’s defending his wife!” she said. “You would do the same for me.” Meanwhile Carole snuck outside to smoke a doob. Heather threw her hands up. Aviva kept muttering to herself that you can never tell a man his wife is crazy, never. (Reid, your wife is a little crazy.) And Ramona stomped around the party victorious, wagging a finger to her “friends” about how she will not put up with people talking behind her back.
St. Barts beckons, which meant Sonja and Ramona
skipped Aviva’s charity ride and went to get some of their cellulite blasted. “When do we start the champagne and the painkillers?” asked Sonja. If you ever find this sentence coming out of your mouth it means you have a problem. The doctor (?) told Sonja’s tummy and Ramona’s pink bikinied bottom to expect manual stimulations before the injections. She pulled out a thin needle which reminded Sonja of some of her more disappointing Sundays between the sheets. She explained that her psychic says she has a forehead that says “All small penises apply here.” Now all I can picture is Harry’s little nibbin, stamped with his GPA and work references, nudging and poking at Sonja’s brow. The numbing cream made Sonja’s brain go number so she started talking about how her house smells like peep and poo, as if we hadn’t already assumed that. Ramona started humping the table and may have had an orgasm. People, this is how we spent our Monday night. Let’s reconsider our options!
Aviva was touched that LuAnn, who just the night before she j’accused of having malicious intent at the wine tasting, still showed up for her charity spin class. Though it turned out LuAnn was really just there for a good workout. She recovered quickly though. Prosthetics for needy kids? Bonus! Carole showed up, looking particularly little and out of breath up there on that bike. Heather showed up late but she clearly wanted to pedal faster than any of those other women. Holla! And the barking instructor made LuAnn’s day, and lost the back of the room, by playing “Money Can’t Buy You Class.” Aviva though was having a hard time letting go of the fact that Ramona and Sonja bailed. “This wasn’t about someone’s pinot grigio line or skin care line,” she said. “There was no product being pushed here.” See the thing about Aviva is she’s actually more perceptive and articulate than anyone else here, with the possible exception of Carole. So while she’s kind of a nut, and often boring, she has the goods to be more interesting if she’d just trust herself and let go. Maybe there’s a pill for that?
Ramona wanted her taxi driver to start using a notebook to remember addresses. Luckily it was Monday so she hadn’t reached her weekly stress limit. Otherwise she would have slit his throat with the shiv she keeps tucked into her doggy’s bedazzled collar. Her next Learning Annex engagement is going to be targeted exclusively to Yellow Cab drivers.
NEXT: A toast to assholes!