"Ignoring. Ignoring!" Rodney stomps into the living room and is about to graft himself onto the couch when he realizes it's quite possible that, in his John-induced fugue state, he'd ordered pizza or flowers or something and had forgotten about it. He's done weirder things under far less influence.

Hoping he's at least ordered something palatable and not involving citrus, Rodney pulls open his door.

"Oh," he says, because there's not really anything else to say.