Okay, so I guess we’d better check in with Karen, sad-little-half-empty-bag-of-dried-out-baby-carrots-that-are-technically-still-edible-and-there’s-no-other-food-in-the-fridge Karen, who is not quite sure she can face the terrible emotional tribulation of attending the opening night of a show that she quit, and I repeat, was not fired from, but quit, entirely of her own free will, and which is now being pitched by the Arts and Leisure as in direct — and unfavorable — competition with your own. For the millionth, billionth, perhaps trillionth time, fuck off, Karen. You don’t get to be the queen of everything; only Elizabeth II does. (BTW, happy birthday, Your Madge! Do you ever think about how you’re only one away from Hitler?) Thankfully, though, everybody seems to be getting hip to Karen’s endless sense of entitled victimhood, and Jimmy takes advantage of her increasing alienation by saying, Hey, why don’t we go to opening night together, and I’m on your side, and being generally sweet and charming in a way that frankly, alarms me. Grooming, I think they call it.
Vulture’s Smash Recap: A Part Full Of Love