[bursting into Dorothy's room] Picture it! Sicily, 1852!
Ma, I am in no mood; and besides, you weren't alive in 1852.
What, we can't learn from history? It was mid-century, and a disillusioned Italy looked to the House of Savoy for leadership. Giuseppe Garibaldi, our courageous leader - and not a bad dresser - thought, "Let's regain some national pride and jump into this Crimean War thing." Of course, there was a big kickoff party at Giuseppe's beach house, and everyone came. Coincidentally, this was also the night his wife, Rosa, hit her sexual peak.
Ma, I am in here because of GUILT! This isn't a story about guilt.
This is a story about being a bad hostess! While Rosa had Giuseppe in the bedroom with his saber around his ankles, two hundred hungry guests were strip-searching mice for a piece of cheese!
Ma, so what's your point? That Rosa and I throw bad parties?
That's my minor point. My major point is, that like Rosa, you're screwing around in the bedroom while there are important things to do outside!
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