Little did Nick know, Jess also sought refuge at the convention. She’d tried to sit it out, but the all-business organizer refused, saying “We’ve had a lot of trouble with watchers.” So Jess and Nick were once again on a path to Sexual Tensionburgh. He tried to panic moonwalk away, stumbled over a chair, and stood up to carry on. Frankly, he’s just lucky there weren’t any open windows around this time. Nick was still moonwalking when Winston caught up with him. Nick admitted he’d kissed Jess and was met with a swift punch to the gonads. Winston was mostly perturbed at the possibility he might have to find a new roommate. (For the record, Winston affirmed that the ousted roommate would be Nick: “You think I like living with you? You have centipedes living under your bed. You’ve named your testicles — and they’re both named Sharon.”) He told Nick to apologize, then punched him where it hurt once more to make the message stick. (Nick: “Ohhhhhh, why Sharon?”)
Of course Nick’s apology only made things worse. Hint to Nick: Don’t apologize by telling the other person kissing them was “like kissing a cousin.” He insisted the kiss had meant nothing to him. Jess was all “It meant nothing to me!” They went back and forth, each insisting the other had wanted the kiss. (Technically, they were both right.) Jess cut it off by calling Sam. Nick, a.k.a. the guy who moonwalks away from uncomfortable situations, accused her of running, so she told him Sam would stay. Somehow, this only embolden Nick. He smugly swirled his finger in her face in a final, emphatic “neener neener.” And damn if even that wasn’t sexier than pretty much anything we’ve seen from Jess and Sam.
At that point, it was time to report to the tables. Much to Cece’s chagrin, she realized they had been organized according to level of education, employment, age, and other resume-based criteria. Turns out modeling and bartending aren’t highly prized professions at an Indian marriage convention. Yes, the caste system was alive and well at this event, and it had populated table 34 with Nick, Cece, a tubby ponytailed guy, a woman who had to be at least in her mid-50s, and a homely 30-something whose self-esteem plunged by the second. Theirs was basically the Indian version of this table. Not even Cece’s protestations that she’d been the hottie catching strawberries in her mouth in slow motion in Lil Wayne’s last could save her from reject row.
Thanks to his reclaimed mojo, Winston was at table 1 with the organizer, who revealed herself to be even more hard-up than Cece. Somewhere around the time she aggressively patted his tush (and maybe grabbed his Sharons?), Winston set about turning off his mojo. Long story short, the piranha hit on Winston all night long until he finally tossed a
defenseless puppy cater-waiter her way. When he gulped that, yes, he was afraid of small, tight spaces, she said gleefully, “Oh! You’ll do just fine.”
The remaining two, Jess and Schmidt — still looking “like a character from The Love Guru,” per Cece — were lumped at a table together. Schmidt: “You should feel complimented. I feel slightly insulted… no offense.” Sam arrived to find he was also at table 1, which Jess announced loudly just to spite Nick about what an all-star her boyfriend was.
But there was no more time for dilly-dallying. It was time for ice breakers! In the first, singles from two tables joined hands and passed around a hula hoop with their bodies. Needless to say, it was more of an excuse for Schmidt to ogle Cece while she undulated. For Jess and Sam, it was a sign of their physical incompatibility, which Nick enjoyed watching and swirling his finger gloatingly. Jess followed him to the bar to call him about taunting her. Of course that was when the second ice breaker started, and the kissing
cousins roomies were paired up to construct a table of nothing but newspaper and masking tape. If ever there was a job for Hobo Handyman Nick, this was it. They argued and tinkered, argued and tinkered. (Nick’s best lines: “It was like a damn fairy tale, that kiss! It was the best kiss of your life! … You have to take a little responsibility, tartin’ around in that little soft pink robe, not expecting to get kissed. I’m a man, Jessica! Pink robes are my catnip!”) Before they knew it, they’d built a table that could literally withstand the weight of Nick and a portly Indian man. Said the organizer: “Strong table, strong couple.” Jess and Nick: “We’re not a couple!” Sam, matter-of-factly: “It’s a strong table.” Me: “It’s a metaphor, man!”
NEXT: “Hey! M. Night Shyamalan, I got a twist ending for you…”