Returning to Jess. She’d submitted her body to a battery of tests and set about ridding the loft of everything detrimental to baby-making. Namely, the microwave (only semi-crazy) and Nick’s “ketchup collection” (certifiably wackadoo — that he has one and also that she feared its toxicity). After that momentary diversion, she was back at Sadie’s office with Cece, who’d taken the test in solidarity. Happily, Sadie reported that Jess was in excellent reproductive health, prompting Jess to sing like Beef from Phantom of the Paradise, “I’m the egg queen. I’m queen of the eggs!”
On the other hand, Cece’s prognosis wasn’t so great. Jess offered to distract her by spending the afternoon acting like dudes: “Let’s care about stupid things — talk about sharks and sci-fi movies and making everything wireless.” But Cece isn’t as superficial as her model friends (side note: bring back Nadia!), so she continued to brood. She even wondered, “What am I going to tell Robbie?” I choose to take that less as an indication that she wants to marry and have kids with Robbie so much as that she imagines Robbie wants to marry and have kids with her. Because, obvs, it’s Schmidt. It’s gotta be Schmidt. (More on that later…)
While Jess had a heart-to-heart with a 43-year-old rhino named Rhonda (“Keepin’ it tight, girl!” / “I have a lot of eggs; unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of sausage”), Winston lost his patience and told sloppy-drunk Nick, “You’re not a finisher. That’s why you didn’t finish law school. The same reason why you’re only three episodes into Downton Abbey.” (Nick: “There’s just too many characters!”) But apparently, Winston’s criticism was exactly what Nick needed to get moving. Flash forward, when he woke up Winston to proudly proclaim, “I finished my novel. I stayed up for 14 straight hours! I even peed into water bottles.” These absurd boasts aside — not to mention the fact that his novel looked, generously speaking, about half the length of a short screenplay — the pièce de résistance may have come via Nick’s yearbook-style dedication: “To Winston, Have a nice summer. Hope to see you again,” and his pre-emptory caveat: “I just want to tell you right now, the black guy dies early. His name’s William. But don’t take offense, it’s a staple of the genre.” To be continued…
NEXT: Schmidt learns a thing or two about lady parts
