Lucy was, in fact, finished with man-hands in the under-the-stairs mini powder room. The unique leverage options of the sloped ceiling should not be underestimated. But the problem with these old quaint homes and old quaint mini powder rooms is that they are fucking old and the faucet leaked irritatingly and then at one particularly exuberant moment of bathroom bucking the glass doorhandle smashed off (man-hands has an immediate shiner on his right thigh). So Lucy is stuck in the loo and banging on the door like the claustrophic maniac she is when not distracted by coitus, and even though Greta and Babs know by now that's where she disappeared to, they don't realize all the violence is non sexual.
When Lucy finally busts out there is eyeliner drawn across her forehead, diluted by excessive sweating. Greta produces a lorazepam and the last dribble of scotch from her handbag. Babs offers deodorant. She also has a crumbled sports bra in her clutch and indicates Lucy should use it to wipe herself down.
They get the hell out of there and Greta trips on a tiny hipster squatting dreamily on the front porch.
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