Shane: I'm not going.
Frank: You're not going where, hon?
Shane: To Buffalo. I'm not going.
Frank: Honey, I'm- we're all packed. Buffalo's gonna be a blast.
Shane: I'm going camping with my friends. You're welcome to join us.
Frank: Well, I don't think-
Shane: I'd really like you to come.
Frank: No. No, no. No, no, no, I- You don't want me huffing and puffing after you. If you want to go camping, Okay, I'll-- I know I can get uncle Bob to go with me in Buffalo. [lays down on couch]
Shane: [frustrated] I'm tired of this! It's not fair! I go where you want to go, I eat what you want to eat. Don't you ever think of anyone other than yourself?
Frank: I think about you all the time.
Shane: Were you thinking about me when you packed me a fried Slim Jim sandwich for lunch?
Frank: Yeah, it was a turkey Slim Jim!
Shane: You know, dad, maybe if you and mom listened to me a little more and took better care of yourselves, maybe she'd still be here.
Frank: Will you knock off that hamburger talk? Come here, honey. Hey... [Shane sits next to him] your mom died... because she got sick.
Shane: And how do you think you get sick?
Frank: Germs.
Shane: It's the way you eat. [Shane rolls her eyes and sighs frustratingly; leaves room]
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