Perhaps I jumped the gun on the Kandi Burress reassessment last week… the ol’ girl’s still got a little spark in her, it seems. We didn’t see her actively make any money or inform her mother that she’s an asshat or anything this week, but in a sea of women trying to destroy one another, she was at least just trying to have a bit of fun. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen an episode of Kandi Koated Nights, and as new castmember Claudia can only make it about 12 seconds without reminding you that she, like, so loves talking about sex, you guys, it only makes sense to reinstate it now. I only wish Kandi would bring back that maroon crop she used to sport. Ah, the good ole days when interview looks didn’t require matching lipstick and tent blouses and marriages lasted.
This whole episode is just a compilation of scenes of people doing office business or actively destroying their marriages until we can get to the Roger Bobb storyline, a man we know exactly enough about to wonder just how it is he’s bagging so many Atlanta hotties. Is it the name? You know what they say about a man with two first names: They all have Yankee Candle air fresheners in their cars. Okay, maybe that’s only what I assume about men with two first names, but you just can’t trust them, and that is what Demetria is learning the hard way; and by that, I mean over the course of eight years and on national television while a woman who calls herself a doctor is swinging around a couple of multi-racial dildos. Television!
This episode starts off the way all good ones do, with Cynthia misusing the past tense. She and Peter are shopping for a new location for BarOne in a neighborhood that “was” real dodgy, but they’re not too worried because when they first started BarOne, it “was” a dump. It’s becoming very clear that Cynthia is using this season to try and shut down every rumor she has ever heard about herself. Next up: That she made out with Kevin Sullivan behind the bleachers in the seventh grade because she totally did not. But for tonight: “I know there’s crazy rumors on the blog that I finance Peter’s business.” I’m pretty sure Cynthia is using “blog” and “internet” interchangeably at this point like all of your favorite old people do. About this particular rumor she just says that it’s nobody’s business and her money is his money because they’re married, confirming that Peter brings nothing to this relationship beyond an army of Lacoste polos and what I am sure is the steamy scent of your local TJ Maxx’s cologne department.
Now he’s ready to move Bar One into a building that looks as though it might have had a Boxcar Children situation going on inside it for the past few years. There are broken-down tire swings, discarded sinks, a family of talking rats (I’m assuming), but Cynthia sees potential in it and especially likes that the funeral home next door is where Martin Luther King Jr.’s body was kept before he was buried. Shortly after she compares her dream of opening a business in Atlanta that her husband doesn’t single-handedly destroy to the dream of Martin Luther King Jr., Peter tells her that’s good because she’ll be cutting the check for it. I hope BarOne customers enjoy their dirty martinis extra dirty. Oh, what am I saying—I’ve never seen anyone in the current BarOne other than Peter and his own personal bartender, so I’m sure this one will be just as intimately frequented.
NEXT: Does anyone really like talking about sex that much?