Dorothy's crying. It's very mucous-y.
Lindsay's just reciting the spoken word parts of Lemonade.
Such idiots.
We're no better than them.
Oh, speak for yourself. I'm not the one who flung my sandwich like a upset chimp at the zoo.
I threw it because I realized I was living with an uptight dildo whose personality unmakes itself anytime something bad happens.
Says the woman who spent weeks catatonic on the couch in crusty yoga pants.
I have a clinical goddamn illness!
Oh, right. So you just win because your condition is listed in the DSM?
No! I win because I am doing something about it. You're just lashing out and putting me under a microscope!
It just happened! He just died. Right, I am still grieving, Gretchen. Jesus Christ!
But I was there first!
Where?!
Here! In shit, miserable! There just isn't room for you to be broken right now, too.
Oh, that... that is complete... How is that okay?
It's not. It is completely unfair.
No. This is not supposed to... One person is supposed to be in the hospital bed. And then the other uncomfortably sleeping on that little couch, just sneaking home to shower and... and walk the dog.
Right? Right, Jimmy. And yet...
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