There are normally very few things I care less about than, in no particular order: Morgan and Kiki, mob shenanigans, or Sonny’s mental health. Which is why I was just as surprised as anyone when the former’s wedding party — which heavily involved all three — turned out to be surprisingly entertaining.
By which I mean this happened:
SONNY: Listen to me. I’ve got to do this. I will never forgive myself if I don’t.
MICHAEL: What? Dad, you’ve never hurt me.
SONNY: Yes, I did! I knew you and Kiki weren’t related. I FINALLY SAID IT.
Where to start? Several parts of this whole speech were completely amazing — beginning with the fact that Sonny spent all of his toast to Morgan’s marriage talking about his dead girlfriend and how proud he was of his other son. (I’m not saying Morgan isn’t a complete douchebag, because DUH, HAVE YOU SEEN HIS HAIR LATELY? But let’s just say his inferiority complex regarding his brother is slightly earned.)
Then there’s the fact that out of all the ways Sonny has made Michael’s life into a complete nightmare hellscape over the years, the one he’s upset about is… not letting him know he could bone his brother’s girlfriend without all that pesky incest getting in the way. (Which, sure, was pretty shitty. But more to Kiki than anyone else? JUST SAYING.)
But it was really Maurice Bernard’s descent (ascent? I don’t even know anymore) into complete camp with fists raised to the heavens at the end that really put it over the edge in the hilarity department. Bravo, good sir.
Meanwhile, Sonny’s latest shipment (of what? SHIPMENT OF WHAT, WRITERS?!) was derailed by my new BFF, Julian, and his new henchman, Carlos. (Or as I like to think of him: Hispanic Matt Hunter.)
Carlos is from Puerto Rico, which means that he’s obviously a member of the Rivera crime family. And since the only non-Riveras we know of on that island are the Santiagos, he’s also completely obsessed with Sabrina. OF COURSE. Now, those of you who haven’t repressed the memory of Sabrina’s introduction to spare your brain the residual contact embarrassment may be wondering how this apparently grown man and mob enforcer could possibly have been dating a girl who looked and acted even younger than our ugly duckling did when she appeared in Port Charles. But no. They were together for years before she came to town. YEARS.
(Just take a second and let that mental image really sink in. Yeah. I wouldn’t trust this guy around Molly, if you know what I’m saying. Or Emma, for that matter.)
Pretty much the only thing less plausible than Carlos’ yen for Sabrina is Britt’s continuing homelessness.
NIK’S IMPRESSED BY THE PREGNANCY BOOBS.
The woman is a doctor! Her parents are international supervillains! Not only can afford she a hotel suite, nanny, and a personal handyman to assemble a crib for her while she looks for an apartment, but — come on now. Are we really expected to believe the Port Charles real estate market isn’t wide open with vacancies?
(What normal person would actually live in this town unless they had no other choice? They just had to reset their “__ DAYS SINCE LAST SHOOTING/EXPLOSION” calendar for the second time this week.)
But all that nonsense has been in service of Nikolas and Britt spending more time together, and they’re adorable and I love them. So whatever. Never let it be said that I let contrivance get in the way of chemistry.
(Just… seriously, Britt. Real estate agent. Look one up.)