At the interns' house, Meredith listens through her door to make sure George isn't out in the hall. Despite her efforts, they run into each other and are saved from awkwardness only by a shirtless Alex hopping frantically from Izzie's door to the bathroom with a wet spot forming at his crotch, like Fergie at that one concert. Izzie comes out and says good morning, which elicits only deafening silence. She says FINE, she slept with Alex again, she's a big whore, a big horny whore who can't get enough so could we get over the shocked silence already. Ha, I love how she's appointed herself both the Billy Graham and the Mae West of the intern corps. Meredith and George flee, leaving Izzie conused. She goes to consult her sock puppets for advice.

"Anybody have any Astroglide? Cause lordy I am fresh out."

At the hospital, everyone notices the tension between Meredith and George and wonders what the hell happened. George and Meredith issue repeated denials, but they're about as convincing as denials issued by, say, Clay Aiken.

Burke's first patient has had chest pains and possibly a heart attack. A scan indicates that he has a large mass around his heart, but his wife insists that he's healthy as a horse, and certainly hung like one. Nonetheless, Burke wants to do an angiogram. The patient looks like Jeroen Krabbé but lacks the generic international villain accent, so I have no idea who the hell it is. Blast those tricky Dutchmen.

Out in the SGH Middle School hallway, George asks Cristina whether Meredith has said anything to her about anything. Nope. Fortunately, the conversation breaks off when Dr. She-Shepherd walks by, fidgeting and picking at her undercarriage like she has ants in her nylons or maybe just in her cooter.

Dr. He-Shepherd's patient is an eleven-year-old who got hit on the head during a little league game and has been throwing up ever since. Yeah, that pretty much sums up my childhood. At this point the writers take the opportunity to explore yet another new stereotype—we've had pregnant black teens, domineering Asian mothers, and now the ever-entertaining fussy gay parents. To be fair, one of the dads is pretty grounded, but the other—clearly the bottom—more than makes up for it by maintaining constant lispy hysterics. In any case, He-Shepherd schedules brain scans aplenty to see whether the kid simply has a concussion or is headed for the short bus.