Adopt a Sailor

Sailor:
[Speaking of Richard's profession] Wow, a movie maker.

Patricia:
Oh, well, careful. Richard makes films, not movies. There's a big difference.

Sailor:
What difference is that?

Patricia:
Well, as far as I can tell; movies, people want to see. Films, on the other hand, people need to be talked into seeing.

Sailor:
Huh.

Patricia:
Yup. And Richard makes films.

Patricia:
[an upper Westside sophisticate] We New Yorkers must seem a little strange to you, huh?

Sailor:
[a "hayseed" from Turkey Scratch, AR] : Oh, I think y'all are great... a tad... uh, what's that word? Yeah, a tad provincial, but otherwise I think y'all are first rate.

Patricia:
Wait, wait. Did you just call us provincial?

Sailor:
Uh, yes, ma'am, I guess I did. I don't mean any offense. It's just an observation is all.

Patricia:
That's a little bit of stretch, wouldn't you say?

Sailor:
Why would that be, ma'am?

Patricia:
Well, maybe we're not on the same wavelength when it comes to the definition of provincial.

Sailor:
Jeez, maybe we're not.

Patricia:
Well, when I think of someone as being provincial, I think of them as being small minded - you know, being prejudiced in their views, not being open to differing influences, especially philosophically.

Sailor:
[long pause] Huh! What do you know? That's... that's how I think of provincial, too.

Patricia:
Oh...

[laugh of recognition]

Patricia:
...is that right?

Sailor:
I guess it all depends on which side of the pot you're pissin' in, huh, ma'am?

Patricia:
What's the point of getting married if we can't be unattractive to each other?

Richard:
I thought the point of getting married was to placate your father before he died.

Patricia:
No. No, you're forgetting that's the sentimental reason we leak to friends. The real reason is because you can't make money and you knew my family had plenty of it. Ring a bell?

Patricia:
Well, why is the man from the Cracker Jack box standing in our living room?

Richard:
You were speaking about Susan.

Patricia:
[referring to the young man in her living room] She got one of these last year. She got one of these...

Richard:
Human beings?

Patricia:
No, sailor people!

Patricia:
You know, I know it's polite, but every time you say "ma'am," it's a sword through the heart of my deeply held delusion that I'm still... you know... alive.

Sailor:
Yes, ma'am.

Patricia:
I love children. I think they are indispensable, especially in regard to our need to repopulate the Earth every once in a while.

Patricia:
Although, I am curious why you think I'm mean to him.

Sailor:
Well, just the way you talk to him. Y'all don't talk as much as sword fight, except with words.

Richard:
[with admiration] You're so grounded. You think less, you know more. I think more, I know less.

Patricia:
Richard, I swear to God, if I see your thumb go anywhere near your mouth, I'm gonna break it off and eat it right in front of you.

Patricia:
Is it just me, Richard, or is there a huge neon, blinking red target on the middle of my forehead?

Richard:
Not that I can make out.

Patricia:
Why is the world trying to kill me, then?

Richard:
Somebody I know have a grumpity-grump day?

Patricia:
It's the tone out there. It's dissonant.

Patricia:
Yes, well, it's good to know that if we ever come under attack again, there's an army of slightly overweight metrosexual filmmakers out there ready to leap to our defense.

Richard:
Well, that's hardly fair.

Patricia:
Provided, of course, the lighting is right.

Patricia:
You stay a chicken, okay?