"My favorite thing about this clusterf*ck is how Blaine literally has no idea that Tina wants to blow his whistle. He’s that guy who lives in a bubble of his own handsome affability, just chasing an old lady down the road to tell her she dropped a hundred-dollar bill and having the old lady go, “Aw, just keep it.” And the pad thai driver showing up with his favorite meal even though he didn’t order it and telling him, what the heck, it’s on the house. And H&M always having just one more sold out shirt in his size back in the store room. And, “We don’t usually let people into the habitats to cuddle with the baby panda bears, Mr. Warbler, but I guess for you we can make an exception.” So when Tina gives him a handmade care package because she just senses that he’s sick, that’s the kind of serendipity Blaine calls “Tuesday."

"

He just passes right the hell out. Tina makes a heartbreaking love confession before she realizes he’s asleep, and let’s assess her next move on a scale from normal to axe-murderer, shall we?

Normal: Quietly leave. Normal with a side of heartache: Cover him up and turn off his lamp and glance at him wistfully from the doorway. Moderately creepy: Take off his shoes and brush his hair off his forehead and give him a kiss. Creepy: Spoon him. Crazytown Bananapants: Unbutton his shirt and massage his chest with Vap-o Rub.

Glee, good lord. You can get away with a lot of shit by doing that high camp hand-wavey magic trick thing, but you cannot get away with non-consensual semi-sexual touching. And like, the piano in this scene is trying to tell us to feel sorry for Tina, when all any of us want to do was slap her hand away and wash our brains out with bleach. Not OK, show. Not OK a lot or a little bit or anything in between.

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