Actually, what Snooki & JWoww really needs is a dose of pregnancy talk in every episode: a discussion of surging hormones, an admission of hopes and fears, details about the grapefruit-sized fetus. (At some point in the pregnancy, that baby must be the sizeof a grapefruit, right?). Without some conscious, constant acknowledgement of the underlying premise of the show, Snooki just comes across as an insufferable human being who insists on wearing a caftan on the beach. With a little pregnancy talk mixed in, at least there’s some context for why she acts like Cancun is Gitmo for pregnant women.
Speaking of, the ladies are headed to Cancun! Woooooohooooooo! Joined by buddies Ryder and Yanice, Snooki and JWoww are blown away by their sick beachfront suite, the massive patio looking out over the sun-soaked beauty of Mexico. Even as a non-pregnant person, I’d love to visit Cancun. Falling asleep under an umbrella on the beach, wading into the water up to my knees before going to back to sleep, eating every buffet within a five-resort radius: it sounds like paradise. Not for Snooki, though. As soon as they land, the trip is a complete bust. She sulks because she’s “fat,” she sulks because she can’t drink, she sulks because she’s four months pregnant and engaged and in Cancun. Snooki’s sadness undoubtedly stems from the frustrating realization that the carefree, UTI-ignoring days of her youth are now behind her, replaced with the need for structure and responsibility, but boy, is she being a really pill about it.
On the plus side, we do get to hear a lot about JWoww’s hooha, which is fun. “I’m trying to shave my vagina and I can’t,” she screams when the light in the hotel bathroom automatically shuts off. Call me ignorant, but it seems like one of the perks of fame is being able to get the finest bikini waxes from the most skilled beauty technicians in all the land: professional elderly women who have perfected certain details of their craft like wax temperature and the blend of post-wax oils and liniments to distract you from the searing pain that has just been inflicted on your genitals. A millionaire still shaving her vagina in the shower needs to get her priorities straight. “Have you ever nicked it?” Snooki asks. My God. Why even have money, I ask, if you are still in danger of nicking it?
The ladies eventually meander down to the beach, where JWoww’s business is once again subjected to tortures. “I have sand in my vagina!” she declares. Snooki pouts until they all pay a visit to the crocodile zoo. “My expectations of the zoo are so fucking high,” she enthuses as they wander cautiously around the enclosures, the trees echoing with enthusiastic hoots. Also, there are monkeys. “Oh no bitch, you do not pull my extensions,” Snooki warns a little spidery-limbed fellow who keeps leaning out of the tree for snacks. At least she’s content for a little while, sitting amid a skittering herd of tiny deer. No animals tried to eat her Chewbacca boots. “It looks like a vagina,” she gasps while looking inside a tiny crocodile’s mouth. Unfortunately, nothing gold can stay. And by gold, I mean a crocodile’s mouth that looks like a vagina.
At night the gang travels to Madala, a club that closely resembles the party scene in Matrix 3, but with more tequila farts and choke-slamming. JWoww gets elbowed in the face as a fight breaks out, and it dawns on Snooki that maybe a grotty nightclub is the last place you want to bring a tiny pre-human abdomen nugget. “God forbid I get hit in the stomach and have a miscarriage!” she gasps while JWoww clutches her wounded eye.
Luckily, the next morning is Dolphin Day! “My dogs can’t even piss on a wee-wee and a dolphin can dance in the water,” JWoww marvels. The ladies frolic with trained dolphins that could almost certainly hit you in the stomach and cause a miscarriage. Lord, now I’m just constantly going to be afraid of Snooki getting hit in the stomach, aren’t I? Maybe she can be lowered into some kind of a protective bubble for the remainder of her pregnancy? Just floating that out there. Anyway, the second the girls return to dry land, Snooki resumes simmering with rage. “Sometimes when you’re pregnant you get in these moods where you don’t like anyone, ” she tries to explain. Sometimes you get in these moods where you just want to eat salads in an icy, penetrating silence that will destroy any and all attempts at conversation.
“At this point I don’t want anything to do with the girls,” she glowers. Of course, staying alone in the hotel while her friends go to the club is unacceptable too. “Since when did you get fun?” Snooki snarls at a boozy JWoww. “Of course, when I’m pregnant, that’s when you’re fun.”
It’s all completely unacceptable. “I don’t think I want to live with Jenni anymore,” Snooki sobs on the phone with her father. A reasonable conclusion, Snooks, but it’s not due to any fault of Jenni’s. What if we got you a pod of dolphins to frolic with at home? Would that make things a little better? A pod of dolphins that also prepares a sumptuous lunch buffet at your behest?
Last week: Roger Dodger