"Need help?"

"Sure, sweetie. Grab some of that and put them on this tray. Then put mayo on top of each one. Don't pick the burned ones."

"Okay. So, what do you think?"

"About what, dear?"

"Come on, you know what I'm talking about."

"You mean, what do I think about that schmuck sitting on our dinner table back there?"

"Mom! He's a nice guy."

"You said the same thing about the last guy you brought here. And look what that jerk did."

"That was different. I was young then. I didn't know any better."

"And I supposed you're older and wiser now? Tell me, have you ever thought about what you're getting yourself into? I mean, just look at him! God, what will the neighbors think? And your Dad--how am I ever gonna tell him we raised a doofus with the worst taste in men in the universe?"

"Will you keep your voice down? He might hear you."

"I doubt it. Done with that? Get more from the fridge. And some mayo, too, this one's almost empty."

"Could you hand me that other tray? Thanks. Look, Mom, I know he doesn't look like it but he's a great guy. Once you get to know him, beneath all that arty stuff, you'll like him. I know you've got some kind of phobia about people with alternative means of livelihood, but believe me, this one's different. He's actually opening his own tattoo shop next summer."

"Oh, I'm absolutely jumping with joy hearing that."

"Mom, please, I could use a little support here. I'll deal with Dad but I need you on my side on this."

"Whatever. Here, you take that while I take this one. Careful with that."

"Wait. How do I look with this on?"

"Disturbing."

"Thanks."

"Gotta hand it to you, though. His folks are filthy rich."

"Mom!"