美食祈祷和恋爱
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Eat Pray Love
I have a friend, Deborah, a psychologist, who was asked by the city of Philadelphia if she could offer psychological counseling to Cambodian refugees boat people, who had recently arrived in the city. Deborah was daunted by the task. These Cambodians had suffered genocide, starvation, relatives murdered before their eyes. Years in refugee camps, harrowing boat trips to the West. How could she relate to their suffering? How could she help these people? So guess what all these people wanted to talk about with my friend Deborah, the psychologist. It was all, “I met this guy in the refugee camp. I thought he really loved me, but when we got separated on the boat. He took up with my cousin. But now he says he really loves me, and he keeps calling me. They’re married now. What should I do? I still love him.”This is how we are.
Woman1: May I help you?
Liz: I’m Liz Gilbert. I’m writing a magazine article on Bali. I wanted to meet a medicine man. Everyone said I should meet Ketut Liyer. Am I in the right place?
Woman1: Wait.
I mean, here I am with a ninth-generation medicine man, and what do I wanna ask him about? Getting closer to god? Saving the world’s starving children?
Ketut: Happy to see you. I am Ketut Liyer.
Nope. I wanna discuss my relationship.
Ketut: You are a world traveler. You will live a long time, have many friends, many experiences. You will have two marriages. One long, one short.
Liz: Am I in the long one or the short one?
Ketut: Can’t tell. Also you will lose all your money. I think in next 6 to 10 months. Don’t worry. You will get it all back again. And you will come back to Bali, and live here for three or four months and teach me English. I never had anybody to practice my English with. And then…I will teach you everything I know. Wait. I have this for you. Keep grounded so it’s like you have four legs. That way, you can stay in this world. also, no looking at world through your head. Look through your heart instead. That way, you will know god. Which is why you came here, no? See you later, alligator.
Six months later
Stephen: I proofread all of her manuscripts. My wife is very, very beautiful, but she can’t spell for anything.
Delia: Look at Uncle Stephen. And Auntie Liz. I’m counting the
minutes for this to be over so I can get in my big girl pants.
Liz: You look fantastic. You just had a baby.
Delia: Oh, you’re lying. I’m fat, I’m exhausted…I can’t keep two thoughts. I feel like Liza Minnelli. Stephen, can you hold Jack for a second? I’m gonna introduce you to Walter.
Stephen: Yeah. Hey, dude. You wanna grab a beer or something? Liz: My new book comes out in April. Thank you for asking. Walter: Great.
Delia: May.
Liz: May. May.
Delia: This is Andre. You two are New York Times’most notable nominees.
Liz: So glad to finally meet you.
Andre: Nice to finally meet you.
Stephen: I fed him nachos. Is that bad?
Andy: You look really comfortable. What’d you feed him, chloroform? Give him to his dad.
Stephen: I told you, nachos. Know what? I’d be asleep too if I had a dump like that.
Andy: We’ll give him to his mom.
Delia: Come here then. Wanna help me change his diaper?
Liz: Yes, I do.
Andy: Hey, how’s the vintage car thing going?
Stephen: Oh, no, no, no. I changed jobs. I’m a pastry chef now. Andy: You mean you’re a baker.
Stephen: Yeah.
Andy: You wanna get baked?
Delia: I know. I know. It’s hard, isn’t it? Oh, no. This is so much fun. Liz: Did you know the exact moment that you wanted to have a baby? Delia: I can’t remember, but I’ve had the box since before I got married.
Liz: What box?
Delia: It’s girly and embarrassing, and you’ll laugh at me if I tell you. Liz: I will laugh at you, but you still have to tell me.
Delia: Come on. Under the bed. I’ve been filling it with baby things…waiting until Andy was ready to be a father.
Liz: So sweet. Does this come in my size? I have a box just like this, except it’s filled with National Geographic and The Times travel section. All the places I wanna see before I die.
Delia: Liz, having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You kind of wanna be fully committed.
Liz: So my trip to Aruba next week, which is just a basic, you know…”where to sleep, swim and stuff your face” piece. I got a new bikini. And it turns out, I have unlimited mini-bar access. You know what that means?
Stephen: Jet lag?
Liz: You, me…macadamia nuts.
Stephen: That was cute. You know who I was talking to at the party who was really inspiring was Tara’s friend.
Liz: Brian.
Stephen: Brian. Unbelievable. He’s a teacher, you know that?
Liz: He’s a substitute teacher, isn’t he?
Stephen: Yeah. He was talking about the budget cuts that are happening now. There’s no money for anything. There’s no music classes there’s no arts classes. They’re volunteering their time to do all of this after school. They’re educating our kids, you know? Liz: I think you’d make a great teacher, honey.
Stephen: Thank you. But I was thinking more of like…education. Getting my masters, going back to school. I don’t know. You know? I…you know…
Liz: Going back to school.
Stephen: I’m just thinking out loud.
I was getting the sinking feeling that Ketut’s prophecy was coming true. Was I in the shorter marriage? We’d only bought this house a year ago. Hadn’t I wanted this? I had actively participated in every moment of the creation of this life. So why didn’t I see myself in any of it? The only thing more impossible than staying…was leaving. I didn’t wanna hurt anybody. I wanted to slip quietly out the back door and not stop running until I reached Greenland. Instead, I made a decision. To pray. You know, like, to god. And it was such a foreign concept to me, that I swear I almost began with: “I’m a big fan of your work”.
Liz: Hello, god? Nice to finally meet you. I…I am sorry I’ve never spoken directly to you before…but…I hope I’ve expressed my ample gratitude for all the blessings you’ve given to me in my life. I’m in serious trouble. I don’t know what to do. I need an answer. Please, tell me what to do. Oh, god, help me, please. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Go back to bed, Liz.
Stephen: I don’t wanna go to Aruba.
Liz: I don’t wanna be married.
Salesclerk: You know, there’s a whole divorce section downstairs. Liz: “Pepper grinder.”
Andy: She’s having…a nervous breakdown.
Delia: This is what girls do, Andy. She’s processing.
Andy: Why does n’t she get drunk or laid? That’s what I would do if you left me.
Delia: No, you wouldn’t.
Andy: No, I wouldn’t.
Delia: She moved out, she filed for divorce. They were together eight years. She’s got no home.
Liz: “Legacy.”
Liz: Every word in Italian is like a truffle. A magic trick.
Delia: Honey, I get it. It’s your life raft right now. When Andy and I broke up for two weeks, I bought a loom. A frigging loom. And he tried to start a microbrewery.
Liz: I don’t know how you guys aren’t sick of me now. I’m sick of me. Delia: Are you kidding me? We love having you. It’s kind of like having a writer in residence. But you are a writer, Liz. You should be writing something.
Liz: Maybe I could write about a woman who goes to Italy to learn Italian. Call it “Carbohydrates and Conjugations”. I’ll start looking for a place.
David: I’m falling in love with you.
Woman2: I’m not who you think I am. I’m just your fantasy. David: No, that’s bullshit. You’re real. Your scars, your talent. The fact that I own a piece-of-crap bar…and you accept that that’s all I’m gonna do.
Man1: Okay, this sucks.
Delia: I second that.
Liz: Don’t be rude.
David: I love your pain. And I love that when we’re together, I can make it go away.
Liz: Oh, he’s good.
David: You’re love…
Delia: He’s hot, there’s a difference.
David: …is like a hot Panini. And when I look into your eyes, I hear dolphins clapping.
Liz: I did not write that line.
Woman2: Here’s what he doesn’t know yet…I disappear into the person I love. I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have it all. My money, my time, my body…my dog, my dog’s money.
I will assume your debts and project upon you all sorts of nifty qualities you’ve never actually cultivated in yourself. I will give you all this and more…until I am so exhausted and depleted…the only way I can recover…is by becoming infatuated with someone else.
Woman3: Elizabeth, hi.
Liz: Hi.
David: Cheers.
Liz: Thank you.
David: I owe you an apology. For the walkouts.
Liz: Well, I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.
David: I doubt that. I, on the other hand, was shit. Although I was trying very hard.
Liz: “Shit” is a strong word.
David: Thank you.
Liz: You seem shorter in person than on the stage.
David: Really? I hear that a lot.
Liz: Sorry.
David: It’s okay.
Liz: It’s unnerving when…a total stranger sees you more clearly than you see yourself. That’s what I mean by saying you’re short. Are you hearing dolphins clapping right now?
David: I took a few liberties with your material. I give you full permission to make fun of me. I know you’re dying to.
Liz: You’re far too charming to make fun of.
David: I’m still hearing them.
Liz: Is that your guru?
David: You’re joking, but, yes, it is.
Liz: She’s beautiful.
David: Yeah. A friend told me about her. I was out of work and feeling pretty desperate for something. Not the last time I was out of work, the time before that. And I just had this feeling like I was looking in all the wrong places.
Liz: Looking for what?
David: God. She has an ashram in India. I’m dying to go, but…you know, you have to get, like, three stages of hepatitis shots…and my insurance always runs out. I’ll go when the time’s right. There’s a gathering of her students every morning. If you want, I could take you sometime. If you’re not unnerved by 100 crunchy people chanting in Sanskrit.
Liz: I need to be unnerved.
David. A yogi from Yonkers. I didn’t exactly fall in love with the guy. What happened was I dove out of my marriage and into David’s arms. Exactly the same way a cartoon circus performer, dives off a high platform and into a small cup of water…vanishing completely. David: Your underwear, my queen.
Liz: He just folded my delicates.
Woman4: Oh, my god, baby. You are in so much trouble.
Stephen: Thirty-six? My client is simply not interested in a divorce. Woman5: Is he serious? Is he really representing himself? Stephen: One semester of law school right here, baby.
Liz: Great. Well, what would it take to interest your client? Stephen: Okay, so here’s the deal. You have screwed up my life, but I really wanna know is why couldn’t you go off and find yourself in our marriage? Why didn’t you just say what you were thinking or feeling?
Liz: I did. You never listened to me.
Stephen: No. You never said: “Hey, you know what? You suck. I’m deeply unhappy.” You just took off. You never gave me a chance to address those problems. That’s not fair. That’s just quitting. I took vows. Till death. And I take them seriously. I believe this is just a phase for you and I’m willing to wait it out.
Liz: You are always waiting, Stephen. Waiting for me to come home, to wanna have kids, to make you some great dinner. I don’t know why we can’t accept we don’t wanna live in unhappiness anymore. Stephen: I accept the fact that I am occasionally unreliable and I often get sidetracked, but I thought you liked that about me. I thought it was okay that I had hopes and dreams.
Liz: Have a dream. Stephen, great, fine. Do that. Just pick one. Stephen: Okay, I pick one. I pick you.
Liz: I know this is awful. But I believe with every molecule of my body that you will find the person that wants just what you want. That will give you what you want and what you deserve. I’m not her. Stephen: Well, you obviously know nothing about what I want. My client would like to submit a song he wrote that he believes is relevant to these proceedings. It goes something like this…
Liz: Are you kidding?
Stephen: Quitter, quitter, quitter!
Liz: How about I take the blame? I am the one who couldn’t deal with another weekend roaming some box-shaped superstore buying appliances on credit and pretending to be a couple that neither one of us ever knew how to be.
Stephen: You wanted that toaster.
Liz: “You like faking it, fine. You’re stellar. I’m the failure. I suck at faking it.” It was not my finest hour.
Delia: So, where do things stand now?
Woman5: We’re prepared to offer half of everything, including the house and my client’s retirement accounts…
Liz: Take it all then. Everything.
Liz: He still said no. He hates me now.
David: He doesn’t hate you. His heart is broken.
Andy: I think he hates you.
Delia: I’m never letting you out of the basement.
Woman5: Why don’t we talk next week and we’ll see where things stand?
Liz: Okay.
Woman5: These things usually have a way of working themselves out. Andy: So why’d you become a vegetarian?
David: I saw some cows slaughtered one time.
Delia: Barely touched your dinner. He’s 28. This is hard for him, isn’t it? And you?
Liz: The meditations help.
Delia: Liz. You remember a couple of years ago, when you threw yourself into the renovation of your kitchen? You were completely consumed with being the perfect wife and cook.
Liz: I was trying to make it work.
Delia: Well, I think chanting and meditation is the same thing in a different costume.
Andy: Definitely give me that documentary. Cause I’ve been thinking about trying out vegetarianism. My triglycerides are through the roof.
David: Yeah. Thanks for everything.
Delia: Great to meet you.
Liz: What?
Andy: Nothing. It’s just…you know, you used to look like Stephen. Now you kind of look like David. You know? What I meant was, you know how people start resembling their dogs?
David: Why would he say that, we look like the same dog?
Liz: He was joking.
David: Not funny.
Liz: Well, he had five Heineken’s. He was bombed.
David: Well, not funny. We don’t look like the same dog. If anything, you’re a collie and I’m a Tibetan mastiff. Don’t you wanna give me a chance to miss you?
Liz: It begins when the object of your affection bestows upon you a heady hallucinogenic dose of something you’ve never even dared to admit you wanted an emotional speed-ball of thunderous love and excitement. Soon you start craving that attention with the hungry obsession of any junkie. When it’s withheld, you turn sick, crazy,
not to mention resentful of the dealer who encourage this addiction in the first place, but now refuses to pony up the good stuff.
Liz: Just frustrated, I’m concerned. I don’t understand.
David: What don’t you get?
Liz: What’s going on here? You don’t look me in the eye. You don’t finish your conversation…
David: Nobody’s asking you to make the bed!
Liz: You don’t have sex with me!
David: Sometimes I’m not in the mood!
Liz: Goddamn him, and he used to give it to you for free. Next stage finds you skinny, shaking in a corner certain only that you’d sell your soul just to have that one thing one more time.
Liz: Well, then why don’t we discuss it? Why don’t we sort it? Why don’t we act like adults?
David: Okay. Can I have a little space? How about that?
Liz: Meanwhile…the object of your adoration is now repulsed by you. David: You don’t always make me miserable.
Liz: There’s a comfort.
David: I just…sometimes I need to come home and have a little David time.
Liz: He looks at you like someone he’s never met before.
David: Is that okay?
Liz: Yeah. No, it’s fine.
David: And not have to, like, you know, justify it.
Liz: The irony is you can hardly blame him. I mean, check yourself out. You’re a mess. Unrecognizable even to your own eyes.
Liz: You asked me to come here? Here I am.
David: And it turned into something else. Didn’t it?
Liz: You are such a child.
David: Right. I can’t take this anymore.
Liz: Great. Perfect. That’s a great response to a conversation. Goddamn it.
Liz: You have now reached infatuation’s final destination, the complete and merciless devaluation of self.
Delia: You wanna go away for a year?
Liz: Do you know what I felt when I woke up this morning, Delia? Nothing. No passion, no spark, no faith, no heat. Absolutely nothing. I’ve really gotten past the point where I can be calling this a bad moment. And it just, it terrifies me. Jesus, this is like worse than death to me. The idea that this is the person that I’m gonna be from now on.
Delia: This happens to people. They fall in love in their 20’s, they get married, they do the granite counter-top, white-picket fence in their 30’s, and somewhere they realize, “This is not for me anymore”. So they fail and they fall down, they hurt like hell, they straighten up and march their bruised asses to the shrink’s office. They can’t just check out.
Liz: I am not checking out. I need to change.
Delia: You have a support system here, Liz. You have friends and family who love you.
Liz: And do you feel my love for you? My support for you? No. There’s, like, nothing. I have no pulse. I am going to Italy.
Delia: Italy. Why Italy?
Liz: What did you have for lunch?
Delia: I don’t know. A salad.
Liz: Exactly. I used to have this appetite for food, for my life, and it is just gone. I wanna go some place where I can marvel at something. Language, gelato, spaghetti, something.
Delia: You’re talking like a college kid.
Liz: I’ve been acting like one. Since I was 15, I’ve either been with a guy or breaking up with a guy. I have not given myself two weeks of a breather to just deal with, you know, myself.
Delia: What’s going on with you and David?
David: What, did you fall out?
Liz: I don’t know how to be here.
David: You wanna know how to be here? Stop constantly waiting for something.
Liz: I’m going to Italy and then I’m going to David’s guru’s ashram in India, and I’m going to end the year in Bali. That’s what I’m gonna do.
Delia: That’s harder to argue with. The beaches are nice. But why? Liz: Because Ketut told me I would.
Delia: The guy with no teeth.
Liz: When you’re desperate in your life and some guy who, yes, looks a little like Yoda hands you a prophecy, you have to respond. Delia: Do you need a Xanax?
Liz: Always.
Delia: Okay, I’m just gonna say it. I’m gonna say it and be done with it. What if it doesn’t work?
Liz: My whole life fits in a 12-foot-square box.
Man1: You know how many times I hear that in a day? Most of them never back for their whole life.
Liz: Hello?
Woman5: Good news. Stephen just signed the divorce papers.
Liz: I’ll probably be back in a week, penniless with dysentery. David: You’re my hero. Hey. If you stay, we’ll go out for Indian every night.
Liz: You never asked me to stay. Go, go, go.
Liz: You know what’s funny? This is the first time in my life there’s no one waiting at home for me. I don’t even have a home to come back to.
Delia: Oh, god. You’ll make friends. You’ll make friends with a backpack, of course. It’d be great to get away. Andy and I were talking about getting a little villa in Florence for a month sometime. You know, and in 10 years, when Jack is older…
Liz: What?
Delia: You know why I was giving you such a hard time? I love my job, my guy and my kid, but…I wish I could go. I love you and I’m proud of you. Now go.
There is a wonderful old Italian joke about a poor man who goes to church every day and prays before the statue of a great saint, begging: “Dear saint, please, please, please…let me win the lottery”. Finally, the exasperated statue comes to life and looks down at the begging man and says: “My son, please, please, please buy a ticket”. So now I get the joke. And I’ve got three tickets.
Woman6: You heat the water on the stove.
Liz: So if I want to bathe…?
Woman6: You put the water in the tub.
Liz: Okay…yeah. It doesn’t really seem like enough water to bathe in. Not enough.
Woman6: Yes, it’s enough. Fill it up three, four, five times. Everything that’s important gets cleaned.
Liz: Is this safe? This…scaffolding? Scaffol…
Woman6: It holds up the ceiling. Otherwise it will fall apart. Everything falls apart, my dear. The only thing permanent in life is family. You’re not married.
Liz: No, divorziata.
Woman6: Why divorced?
Liz: We broke it.
Woman6: You’re more happy now? I have one rule. No strange men spending the night. You American girls when you come to Italy, all you want is pasta and sausage.
Liz: I’ll take it.
Woman6: Good. You chose well.
Liz: Cappiccino.
Sofi: It’s a zoo in here.
Liz: And my Italian sucks.
Sofi: How long have you been here?
Liz: Two weeks. You?
Sofi: Six weeks. You’ll get better. Two cappuccinos, please. And warm the milk this time. Yesterday it was too hot and burned my tongue. You like Napoleons?
Liz: Of course.
Sofi: And two Napoleons, please.
Liz: Your Italian is fantastic.
Sofi: I have a wonderful tutor. I’ll give you his number if you’d like. He’s really good and he needs work.
Liz: Oh, great. Are you Dutch? German?
Sofi: Swedish. Even colder people, if you can imagine.
Liz: I’m Liz, by the way.
Sofi: Sofi.
Giovanni: You can say…it’s a past.
Liz: Too fast, but okay.
Giovanni: You can say…yeah.
Liz: What a beautiful word.
Giovanni: Come on, it’s “let’s cross over”. It’s so ordinary.
Liz: No, it’s the perfect combination of Italian sounds. It’s the wistful “ah”, the rolling “trill”, the soothing “ess”.
Giovanni: That’s true.
Liz: I love it. All right, let me teach you a word. Therapist. Giovanni: Come on.
Liz: Good. You gotta learn humor.
Giovanni: It’s not.
Liz: Come on. Cheers.
Giovanni: Shall we continue Tuesday at 5?
Liz: Yes.
Giovanni: With another bottle of the therapy?
Liz: Of course.
Giovanni: You’re doing very well, Liz.
Liz: Thank you.
Giovanni: And you must be very polite with yourself when you learn something new.
Liz: Yes. Grazie, I agree. But your English…how are you even talking to me like this right now? I think you’re gonna teach me more than I teach you.
Giovanni: You have good Italian. Very good.
Liz: All right.
Liz: I am alone.
Liz: I feel so guilty. I’ve been in Rome for three weeks, all I’ve done is learn a few Italian words and eat.
Luca: You feel guilty because you’re American. You don’t know how to enjoy yourself.
Liz: I beg your pardon?
Luca: It’s true. Americans know entertainment, but don’t know pleasure.
Giovanni: This is Luca Spaghetti, by the way, you know.
Liz: Your name is Luca Spaghetti?
Luca: Yes, that’s what our family is called. We invented it. I’m serious. Listen to me. You want to know your problem? Americans. You work too hard. You get burned out. Then you come home and spend the whole weekend in your pajamas in front of the TV.
Liz: That’s not far off, actually.
Luca: But you don’t know pleasure. You have to be told you’ve earned it. You see a commercial that says, “It’s Miller time” and you say, “That’s right. Now I will go to buy a six-pack”. And drink the whole thing and wake up the next morning and you feel terrible. But an Italian doesn’t need to be told. He walks by a sign that says, “you deserve a break today” and he says, “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m planning on taking a break at noon to go over to your house and sleep with your wife”.
Giovanni: We call it “dolce far niente”. It means…the sweetness of doing nothing. We are masters of it. He’s right. He says you can’t learn Italian like this. You don’t speak the language just with your mouth, speak it with your hands.
Liz: Like this? Okay. Is yelling.
Liz: All this gives me a stomachache. I think that’s my neighbor Lorenzo.
Sofi: Charming.
Luca: So anyway, to start off I’d say…
Liz: Excuse me. Come here. For the table…a big platter of artichoke alla giudia, prosciutto with melon, and eggplant with ricotta affumicata. Then spaghetti alla carbonara pappardelle with ragu of rabbit and linguini with clams. Then trips alla romana and saltimbocca. And two more liters of the vino sfuso from Genzano. Thank you.
Giovanni: You did it. Yes. Liz Gilbert, you are a Roman woman now. Liz: No, only honorary. That is a real Roman woman.
Giulio: Yeah, with a lot of international friends.
Luca: That one, I’d bite.
Giovanni: Maybe you and Rome just have different words.
Sofi: Different words?
Giovanni: Yeah.
Giulio: Yeah. It’s like each city has a word, if you really think about it. Like, what is the word for London? I would say “stuffy”.
Liz: I would agree with that.
Giovanni: What’s the word for Stockholm?
Sofi: Are you kidding? “Conform”.
Giovanni: And New York?
Liz: “Ambition” or “soot”. What’s the word for Rome?
Giulio: It’s kind of difficult to think about.
Sofi: It’s classic. “Sex”.
Liz: Of course.
Sofi: So, what’s your word, Liz? I’m curious. I can’t figure it out. Liz: Well…it might be…it started as “daughter”. I was good at that. And then…“wife”. Not so good. “Girlfriend”. Not so good. My word’s “writer”.
Giulio: Yeah, but that’s what you do. That isn’t who you are, no? Sofi: Maybe you’re a woman in search of her word.
Liz: Hey, Sofi, it’s Liz. Let’s go to Naples. Maybe my word is “pizza”. Liz: Listen, lady, I am only 7, but I can tell you’re a complete moron. Because I am from Naples.
Sofi: I love this place, but Giovanni said to watch out. His cousin got mugged here in a museum.
Liz: Are you serious?
Sofi: Watch out for the scooter. Yeah.
Liz: I’m in love. I’m having a relationship with my pizza.
Sofi: You look like you’re breaking up with the pizza.
Liz: What’s the matter?
Sofi: I can’t.
Liz: What do you mean, you can’t? This is pizza in Napoli. It is your moral imperative to eat and enjoy that pizza.
Sofi: I want to, but I’ve gained, like, 10 pounds. I mean, I’ve got this…right here. What’s it called? What’s the word for it?
Liz: A muffin top. I have one too.
Sofi: I unbuttoned my jeans five minutes ago just looking at this. Liz: Let me ask you a question. In all the years you’ve ever undressed in front of a gentleman…
Sofi: Hasn’t been that many.
Liz: All right, well…has he ever asked you to leave? Has he ever walked out? Left?
Sofi: No.
Liz: Because he doesn’t care. He’s in a room with a naked girl. He’s won the lottery. I’m so tired of saying no and then waking up in the morning and recalling every single thing I ate the day before. Counting every calorie so I know exactly how much self-loathing to take into the shower. I’m going for it. I have no interest in being obese. I’m just through with the guilt. This is what I’m gonna do, I’m gonna finish this pizza and then we’re gonna do watch the soccer game. And tomorrow we’re gonna go on a little date and buy ourselves some bigger jeans.
Sofi: Giovanni likes a muffin.
Liz: Attagirl.
Giovanni: He’s saying, “For whom are you playing?” Per chi, for whom.
Liz: Pull, pull. I’m sucking it in. Put some Swedish muscle into this. You think this happened to Sophia Loren? There is goes. Almost got it. Go, go, go. You’re not trying. I’ve almost got it. I’ve almost got it. Sofi: I did it.
Sofi: Oh, that’s beautiful. You should get it.
Liz: For whom?
Sofi: For you, Liz. Just for you.
Liz: No, I’m happy just with my big lady pants.
Liz: Thanks for the day. And the leg room.
Giovanni: It was fun.
Sofi: We’re gonna go for food later. Wanna come?
Liz: No, no, I’m good.
Liz: The sweetness of doing nothing.
David: Please. Please get off the floor. Will you please just…will you come up here? What if we just acknowledge that we have a screwed-up relationship and we stick it out anyway? We accept that。