On last night's episode of everyone's favorite meatball soup, we traveled to the beautiful, garbage-strewn shores of the native country, mother It'ly. It was a lovely trip. Let me show you all the pictures.

The reason for the trip was, ostensibly, because everyone was so stressed out. You know, there had been all the mamadrama with Danielle, and Bouffant was going to be sent to the clink for disturbing the weave peace, plus Albie — marble lion covered in butter — is having school problems, so everyone just needs to chillax. Oh, also, Joe just got in a teeny, tiny fender-bender. Oh, don't worry, nothing major. He just flipped the car over and completely totaled it and the pictures ended up on TMZ. That's all. Just a little bumpy-wump. A little whoops. Apparently there had been some rumahz and whispuhz about there maybe being alcohol involved, but don't worry, Joe explained that. See, after he drove off the road at 2am and flipped the car and totaled it and ended up on an internet website, he just strolled over to his dad's house and did a few shots of scotch. You know, like most people do after a near-fatal car accident. "Hey dad, just came by to do scotch shots, you know. Hm? Oh that, yeah that's just a sizable piece of the windshield embedded in my abdomen. Nothing a few scotch shots won't cure. You know, normal things." So that was stressful too! Everyone really needs a vacay, don't you think?

The girls were having their daily wine infusion at one of their favorite darkly decorated empty restaurants, and TT was sayin' "Whyz don't we goez on a tripzuhz? That would be niiiiiiice." Jacqueline and Caroline's faces did haunting rumba dances as they contemplated the grim fate of being stuck on a trip with Teresa for any prolonged amount of time, and Teets mistook their expressions for excitement. "IT'LY!!!" she yelled, throwing mushy pasta up in the air, her hair oozing olive oil, somewhere in Rome Sophia Loren lurching up from her bed and, her body suddenly not her own, doing a strange jabberwocky walk, saying "Mambo Italiano, Mambo Italiano..." over and over again. Yes, the Housewives were headed to Italy. The boot would never be the same.

Before they went, though, they had to get all their ducks in order. Caroline had to do another one of her sad, grownup, fully clothed seductions of Al, the way old marrieds have to do every day, trying to have a new conversation, trying to find some fleck of spice on the dust-strewn floor. For her part, Jacqueline had to pack her Water Wings and innertube, because they would be on a boat, and she's only in the Guppy level swimming class, so she needs to be safe. She had a talk with Bouffant about what Bouffant was going to do when Jacqueline and Chris were out of town. No parties, no "love shacks", nothing. Bouffant smiled, causing some of her powdered sugar to sprinkle off, and she said "Noooo, mooooom." But you know, of course, it was PartyTime5000 at the Jacqueline Laurita household, full of wine coolers and fatty regret, and yes, probably some sex with that boy, Dunster or Checkers or whatever his name is. There was probably some of that, hats flopping loose in the wind, the stars wishing they weren't forced to watch.

Teresa had the biggest job in getting ready, because of course she had to bring her four daughters along on the voyage. And her daughters, as we all know, are some of the most curious and strange creatures on the planet. Well, they're not that strange now. Now they're just prissy little girls in gilded fashions, making poses and saying "Fabulousssss." What's strange about them is wondering what they might become someday. Who will they be? Unfortunately I picture something sad and almost tragic for most of them (three of them, one of them will get out, probably the second oldest), something involving living at home forever and dressing the same and having eerie long hair. That's what's strange about them, imagining that. For now, though, they're just loud and shrieky and spoiled. And they're going to Italy.

When all 20 people gathered at Teresa's house to take a party bus to the airport, Jacqueline's mother stumbled and knocked over a four-foot-tall vase and it shattered. Teresa came running over, yelling "Oh no no no no," saying "no" in this sad "Everything's ruined! It rained on my birfday party!" way that was so childish and sad. Of course she assumed one of her hellion daughters had done it, but then she saw Jacqui's scared mother, cowering and piddling in a corner, her ruined pantsuit reflective of the ruined moment, the ruined day. In ancient times, the Romans would have seen the broken vase as a bad omen for the trip and probably wouldn't have gone. But omens are rarely heeded anymore, we've lost that divine art, so everyone shrugged their shoulders and moved on. Jacqui and her family were put in their crate and it was off to the airport.

Whooooooooosh! went the plane, riding heavy and fast on the jet stream, the earth below Etna trembling in anticipation.

They arrived in Venice. The idea was to spend a day in that sinking (now sunken, thanks to them) city and then hop aboard a big, gaudy American-style cruise ship and honnnnnnk on down to Southern It'ly, where Teresa and Joe would see their family. Ah Venice!!! Land of pigeons and stinking acqua alta. Everyone experienced the city in different ways. Jacqueline was mad (in a joking sort of way) that the gondoliers didn't sing, like they do at the Venetian in beautiful Las Vegas (where Jacqui is from — sometimes she dreams about the desert). Caroline and Al were understandably overwhelmed by Teresa's kids and, frankly, Teresa herself. Joe was marveling over his realization that there in Venice, the boats are like cars, in that they transport an individual from one place to another via a series of interconnected paths. Teresa was gulping her breath and heaving and hawing as they glided under the Ponte dei Sospiri. "Joe... we're gonna dieee..." she said through held breath. All the old people on the trip were busy watching the pigeons flapping over the clattering roofs, letting their hearts be twined up by the twilight-blue beauty of the Old World. Teresa's girls struck lonely poses on the prows of the boats, Saint Mark looking down from chilly heaven, wishing he wasn't forced to watch.

Teresa wanted to go shopping, but everyone was on their midday siesta, so the shops were closed. "Chanel!!!" she yelled down the quiet stone streets. But no one responded. Teresa was so sad. She wanted to buy traditional French fashions in Italy. Joe, secretly glad that he didn't have to spend even more money he didn't have, consoled her. Caroline shook her head. It was going to be a long trip.

Then they road speeding motorboats away from all that old shit and toward the giant, glittering cruise boat. Everyone was so excited to get back to familiar things. "Spank me! Spank me!" Teresa yelled to Joe as she stood in the motorboat, be-fezzed members of the Brotherhood of the Cruciform Sword chasing them in their Hacker-Crafts, trying in vain to slow the end of the world. Joe did spank Teresa, and Elsa Schneider whizzed by them, a secret Nazi in a secret world. All the old people wept and clung to each other, because they didn't want to leave, they didn't want to get onto this great belching vessel, they wanted to stay in Venice and be quiet and eat pasta forever. But they weren't in control of the trip, so they couldn't.

The boat was big and gaudy and awful. Joe and Chris had a pleasantly dumb conversation about Danielle and how awful she is, because I think they wanted to try and see what it's like to have their own scene on the show. Would they like it, they wondered, as they muttered their practiced lines about Danielle to themselves. Would it be fun? And then suddenly it was opening night and they were sitting at the bar, nursing cocktails, and talking, the cameras hovering nearby, staring at Joe and Chris with their cold, swallowing gaze. I don't really think the guys took to it, frankly. I don't think it's for them. But I think it's fun that they tried. Caroline and Al got suck with Teresa's girls so Teresa and Joe could have gross Italian boat sex ("Teresa is... crushing me... Teresa is..."). And it was kinda cute, because Al was really good with those future woes, making them laugh, keeping them relatively calm. Caroline was far sterner, slapping their wrists with her riding crop when they got out of line, surreptitiously tossing one overboard when no one was looking. That kind of thing. After the boat sex, Teresa and Jacqueline went out on the boat-town, slurping down mojitos, those traditional Italian boating drinks, and disturbing other passengers' pleasant piano bar evening by banging out Chopsticks on the keys and hooting and yelling. It was bad behavior for Jacqueline. It was too bad. But she paid the price later. Meanwhile the old people were all out on the deck, trying to catch a glimpse of the thin crust of the coastline, trying to determine how hard it would be to detach a lifeboat and row for their lives.

Back in Jersey, Bouffant and Nickels began an erotic game of Blind Man's Bluff. You're welcome, stars.

The next day, Jacqueline was extremely hungover/seasick, so she was just out of commission. She was not available. It was too bad, because Teresa had organized a lovely birthday dinner for Giuseppina, who was turning four. "FOUR!!" she yelled often, this new round number, this one finger closer to the end of her hand. She was excited, because birthdays are exciting then. All the guests stumbled to the dinner table and choked down some wine and listened to more shrieking and Teresa beamed dumbly, taking in the beautiful familial scene. The captain came out and wished Pieta a buon compleano and then they brought out a big chocolate cake ("With potato chips on it," as Joe observed) but it was all in vain. Lambrusca was fast asleep right there in her party chair. When they tried to wake her up, she yelled and yelled and yelled. Teresa said she was mortified. Caroline took another furtive pull from her bottle of ether. The old people on the trip were just tiny dots in the sea, paddling madly toward the horizon.

And so the boat chugged on, headed south, almost there. Next week. Una settimana. That's all. We're almost there.

Back in New Jersey, Danielle had a smoothie with Scraps (well, she had a smoothie, he had coffee, always coffee for Scraps, always the wink tic and jitter) and they discussed Joe's car accident. She said "The strip clubs are open then... So let's just call it what it is." Even though saying something and making a very vague connection between that something and another thing isn't really calling anything what it is. It's just weakly linking together two things, that's all. That's all, Danielle. Anyway, the whole conversation was sad and stupid. Danielle sitting there all bug-eyed and dull and tired, Scraps staring at the flickering fluorescent light and not really paying attention, hearing just the faint drone of yet another anti-Manzo soliloquy, just another of Danielle's uneding rants. The camera pulled back and there was the diner, still and bright in the dark Jersey evening, two people sitting, distracted, unaware of the wind or the tide or any other part of the planet's moving.

Somewhere, not too far away, a cry rang out and a floppy hat was thrown up into the air, silhouetted against the moon, a triumphal beacon of the love shack.

And the old people lay panting and wet in the sand. They'd made it. It had actually worked. They heard footsteps, looked up, saw a strangely dressed man. "Welcome to Albania!" he said, grinning. They closed their eyes. How stupid. How dumb. How foolish they'd been for trying, just once, to go somewhere nice.