As Victoria fights for her life after being hit in the head by a pebble as she emerged unscathed from the parking garage collapse at Clear Springs, Nikki shows incredible bravery of another kind by eschewing all makeup and and hairdressers while sitting by her daughter’s side.

As Victor demands someone do something “because I’m a Newman, dammit!”, Nikki crawls up in bed with Victoria and remembers a bunch of lame ass childhood memory shit that never happened because she wasn’t married to Victor when Victoria was born — she was married to dim bulb architect, Kevin Bancroft and trying to pawn off Victoria as his kid — and she shipped her daughter off to boarding school when it was time to age her for teen storylines. Then she sings an excruciatingly painful lullaby that by all rights should have had her daughter crawling back from the dark recesses of her coma just to make her mother stop.

Over at Statesville, Phyllis and her endless roll of quarters make a call to her porn addicted son, Daniel to check on her baby daughter Summer and hubby Nick.

Enter poorly conceived and much hated peripheral character, Jana, babbling about some shit she made in arts and crafts. What the fuck ever — I fast forward when you are on, Jana.

Neil’s new girlfriend Karen is invited to Thanksgiving dinner much to Lily’s chagrin. It seems Miss Lily thinks it is too soon after her mother’s death for her daddy to be dating. Get off your huffy bike and get with the program, L — your mama “died” over 7 months ago. In daytime years, that’s like…well, that’s like forever. Meanwhile, Karen is staining her panties at the thought of preparing her famous chicken adobo (it’s a Filipino dish, just like her.)

Dr. Webb examines Victoria, then tells her worried and severely unmade-up family that her blood pressure is elevated and she could suffer a stroke or other side effects. He says they need to make a decision soon or Victoria will die. Victor tells him to take the baby by Cesarean, even if it means his grandson may not survive. Nikki says she refuses to let that happen — her daughter would give her own life to save her unborn child. “If our daughter dies, it will be on you!” Victor shouts, as Nikki once again uses the lack of glamour and tears to convey her state of distraughtness.

Karen is making chicken adobo for Thanksgiving dinner.

When pressed to weigh in on what should be done regarding Victoria, Nicholas pussies out and says he can’t make that call. What he can do, however, is TAKE a call. From Phyllis, high priestess of the prison pay phone who announces that her appeal has been heard and her sentence commuted. She’s coming home! Later, still not having grown a pair, Nick sits by his sister’s bedside and begs her to wake up so no one will have to make a decision. Way to step up and be a man, Nick.

Karen can’t wait for everyone to try her chicken adobo. Chicken adobo, chicken adobo, chicken adobo. Shut the fuck up, Karen.

Phyllis is a free woman and motors her ass right over to the hospital where she rubs Nikki’s nose in it.

***NOTE: It’s a well known fact I love me some women in prison, but I am glad this two and a half month debacle is over. What the fuck was the point of putting Phyllis in the big doll house if she wasn’t going to work in the prison laundry, fend off a lesbian rape attack, get manhandled by guards, or be forced into participating in an escape attempt? Y & R seriously dropped the ball with this one.

It’s Thanksgiving and Michael wakes up shirtless. Let’s enjoy that moment, shall we?

Sighhhhhhhhhhhh. Sexy little half-brother Kevin — who once gave the high and mighty Lily a case of the chlamydia (so again — shut it, L!) — shows up and announces he is off to the prison to ask poorly conceived and much hated peripheral character, Jana, to marry him. Michael’s big mouth wife Lauren spills the beans over dinner, upsetting the boys’ diva mama, Gloria, who promptly leaves Kevin a voice message telling him he better not fuck up and take a murderess for a bride.

Too late. Kevin done asked Crazy to marry him.

At the Winters, a dual tragedy unfolds. First, Karen arrives with crockpot in hand and a maniacal grin on her face as she finally makes good on the threat of serving up that goddamn chicken adobo.

As the horror of that is just sinking in, an even greater nightmare surfaces: Sharon Collins Newman Abbott.

Sharon, you know I love you and think you are one of the most gorgeous women on television (and God, can you cry with the best of them!), but seriously…what the fuck is up with the hair? You’re the Jabot Cosmetics spokesmodel for the love of Christ and you’ve been channelling Jewel and sporting this mop for the better part of 2 years now:

And while I know you could do better, I’ve turned a blind eye because I love you so much. That love reached its breaking point on Thanksgiving, when on the way to dinner you apparently stopped off in 1960 to change clothes and showed up in this:

Why, Sharon? WHY?!?!? You’re a young, vibrant, beautiful woman — not Joanne Worley, circa 1968. This shit must stop post haste or I fear the next step is a huge seashell adorned wicker bag and a seat at the mah-jong tournament in Boca. I’m not sure if it was the clothes or the chicken adobo, but as the meal kicked in, you actually started looking 9 kinds of crazy:

Back at the hospital, the Newmans skip dinner and hold a bedside vigil. Summer turns up in a head tourniquet and looks spectacularly unimpressed that the only vegetable being served up this year is Aunt Victoria.