In Tiffany's dressing room, Adam has set up an ornate yet tasteful portable folding screen confessional. Adam stands mesmerized, stock still. Vampirella snaps her fingers. Adam awakens from a trance, to somberly take Tiffany's confession: "Well, pussy's gotta breath!" declares Tiffany, airily..
"Do not be lewd and facetious here before the Lord." rebukes Adam. "Father, I am a germophobe." "My child, I am not here as a doctor of medicine." "I never wear panties. That's just how I've always been." "Naturally." Adam pauses in reverie: 
"How naive and innocent were those days when bra burning was so marvelously scandalous!" "You miss my point, Father: I simply cannot abide to cover my twat. Not since my first yeast infection as a high school cheerleader." "Go ahead. Do your worst to try to shock me. I'm used to it." "This is no laughing matter, Father!" "Oh, it's lewd and hilarious: You suffer overwhelming and even painfully intense arousal at the slightest tactile provocation. But it helps blot out all the heartache. And exhibitionism feeds your need to be the center of attention. Anything you tell me, however humiliating or preposterous, is protected under the seal of the confessional. Share your emotional truth: What weighs upon your soul, my child?"
Neither Adam nor Tiffany perceive Vampirella, in the room looming over them.