For the love of God, Montresor!

In all this telegraphed-from-three-years-ago musical-houses shuffle, I love that nobody thinks of ol' what's-her-name, the youngest one -- you know -- the high school kid, the oops baby, the not-Liz ... ahh, April, that's right! Knew I'd remember. Guess she's gonna be sleeping in the garage, next to boxes of choo-choos in various states of disrepair from vigorous use that are awaiting John's tender ministrations.

And I got a question: Where's LIZ'S practically free house? Are free houses reserved solely for the righteous procreators of the family? Must the swingin single girl make do with a room in some elderly lecher's attic near the school, sharing washer and dryer space with butt-sprung boxers, nylon nightgowns and sans-a-belt slacks? I guess so, if the eventual aim is to push the aforementioned swingin single girl into the arms (and creepy basement "safe room") of her dumpy pornstachioed stalkerazzi ex.