(Don's not the only one who has trouble drawing distinctions in his relationships with the opposite sex. Stan tries to make a move on Peggy, even though, as Peggy says, he's more of a brother to her. We learn at the end of the episode that Wendy the rando is in fact Gleason's daughter, who mourns her father's death by having sex with one of his colleagues.)
We're also reminded, yet again, of how much Don's past informs his work. The margarine ad he pitched last week was soaked in nostalgia for the perfect farmhouse upbringing he never had. This week he became obsessed with a decade-old ad for oatmeal that was inspired by his relationship with Aimee. As he was searching through the SCDP archives, he came upon the Heinz baked beans ad—a campaign he and Megan concocted that also draws on a sentimentalized vision of family life.
Don's built his career on selling happy families, but his obsession with his broken childhood will only take him so far, from what I can tell. His ideas for the Chevy campaign are, as Ted says, gibberish. And we're treated to a visual clue that Don is living in the past. In that final scene in Ted's office, Don is wearing a classic blue suit and striped tie. Ted, on the other hand, is in a green jacket with a paisley pocket square. His office wall is covered in a psychedelic, wavy print. Ted represents the groovy future; Don, the buttoned-up past. We'll see who comes out on top, but I wouldn't put my money on Don.
As for Don's line about the whorehouse and the car campaign, it seemed to have two meanings. The first, which Ted and Cutler would have picked up on, is that Don is sick of the chaos that the Chevy account has wreaked on the office. Ken got in a car crash trying to impress the GM execs, and half the agency's employees got strung out on that weird injection in an attempt to come up with a good campaign. He doesn't want to turn tricks to make money anymore.
But the other meaning is far more literal. The stress of working on a big, high-stakes project like Chevy turns the office into a whorehouse for Don—that is, he is transported back to his childhood in the brothel. His emotions, which are apparently more fragile than we realize, can't handle the flashbacks.
Regarding Betty, yes, I did notice she's back to her old, perfectly coiffed self...and that her shrill, lecturing posture toward Don has returned as well (for good reason, of course). But more striking to me was how Henry saved the day after the Grandma Ida fiasco. (Side note: What are we supposed to make of the fact that Ida is the same name as Don's dearly departed secretary, Mrs. Blankenship? We'll have to discuss on Twitter.) When the scene shifted to Henry and the police in the Drapers' living room, I breathed a sigh of relief: "Henry's here. All is well." We've gotten a hint in the past that Don's kids also see Henry as a much-needed source of stability. Bobby had trouble sleeping a few episodes back because he was worried Henry would be killed just like Dr. King and JFK.
But Henry remains the least-explored of Mad Men's major characters. We don't know much about him except that he deeply cares for Betty, even as he occasionally gets exasperated with her, and that he's been a dependable caregiver to her kids. What's his dark side? His penchant for younger women, as we saw hinted at in the season premiere? Or something else? I predict we'll find out more about Henry as the season wears on.