Frasier

Niles, what are you doing?

This fruit nut muffin contains a number of things

I don't care for...

currants,

a husk of something...

Away, wrinkly thing!

You know,

if you and Maris ever reconcile,

I'm going to miss these tranquil mornings...

I reading my newspaper, you tweezing your muffin.

Hey, boys.

Hi, Dad. Hello, Dad.

Hey, I got a letter from my old Army pal, Bud Farrell.

The whole platoon's getting together next weekend

in Rattlesnake Ridge.

Oh? Good for you.

Oh, speaking of old chums, Daphne,

a "Clive" called for you a little earlier.

Clive?

Mm-hmm.

Did he sound British?

No, he was one of those fiery Mexican Clives.

He said

he'd call back.

Yeah, I bet he will.

Oh, boy, I can't wait To see the old gang.

Dad, you're not thinking of driving

all the way to Rattlesnake Ridge.

It's five hours away.

You know how your hip stiffens up.

No problem. They said I can bring a guest.

So, who's the lucky one?

By my count, two of us get to be lucky.

Come on. They're great guys.

Stinky, Wolfman, Boom Boom, Jim.

'Course his name's not really Jim.

We call him that 'cause he likes to drink Jim Beam.

Just like we call Hank "Bud" 'cause he drinks Budweiser.

Come on. You'd love these guys.

We're sherry drinkers, Dad.

Think about it.

Anyway, I have a conference that weekend.

Yeah, and I have me friend Megan's birthday party.

Fras?

Oh, please, let that be Megan

needing a clown for her party.

Hello.

Oh... Clive.

Yes, it has been

a long time, hasn't it?

Oh, I am sorry.

I have dinner plans tonight.

Well, maybe just a drink then.

Say 6:30?

Me, too.

Bye.

Oh, hell.

So, who is this Clive?

An ex-boyfriend?

Worse. Ex-fiancè.

You were engaged?

For years.

Oh, we were mad for each other.

He was very sweet,

and had the most gorgeous eyes you ever saw.

But...?

Oh, yes. That, too.

I just couldn't see a future with him.

I mean the man was a total layabout...

no ambition, no drive.

He couldn't hold a job.

All he wanted to do was tinker about with his car.

His hands were always black from the motor oil.

What a brutish habit.

If God had intended me to work on my Mercedes,

he wouldn't have given me Horst.

I had to break it off,

but I wanted to let him down easily.

So I said if we were still free in five years,

we could try again.

And here he is, right on schedule.

Oh, what do I say to him?

Well, be honest. Tell him how you feel.

What, and break the poor thing's heart all over again?

Honesty's the best way to avoid unnecessary anguish.

Well, case in point.

Dad, I do not have plans for next weekend,

but I do not intend to spend it in the middle of nowhere

with Budweiser and Boilermaker

and their liver-damaged friend Seltzer.

Well, that's fine.

There'll be other reunions.

There. You see?

No evasions, no convenient conferences.

Just simple honesty.

'Course, I don't suppose Jim will make it next time.

It says here he just had his third bypass.

But I'll see him at his funeral.

Off to work.

Unless I go first!

All right. I'll drive you to your stupid reunion.

Thanks, son.

I guess I better wait a few days

to tell him about Stinky needing a ride.

And, in closing, this goes out to Keith,

the narcoleptic I spoke to earlier.

I'd be glad to resume our conversation

when you feel a bit more alert.

But, in the meantime, I suggest that you reconsider

applying for that air traffic control position.

This is Dr. Frasier Crane,

KACL 780 AM.

Brilliant show, Frasier.

Chock-full of pithy insights.

What do you want?

A favor.

Bonnie Weems, the auto lady,

just asked me to another one

of her wretched dinner parties.

I'm planning on saying you and I have ballet tickets that night,

so do back me up.

You've got to. I'm sorry. I can't.

Have you any idea how vile her food is?

The local raccoons have posted warning signs on her trash bin.

She already invited me,

and I told her I was driving my father

to his army reunion at Rattlesnake Ridge.

Oh. Very clever.

Well, I'd use it myself, only I killed my father off

to escape her Labor Day clambake.

Oh... uh... Roz.

Listen, I'm going to the opera tomorrow night.

You didn't happen to remember to bring my...?

Oh, your opera glasses.

I'm so sorry. They completely slipped my mind.

I wouldn't really mind if you hadn't borrowed them

to ogle that bodybuilder that moved in across the street.

I've looked once or twice.

It's not like

I copied his name off his mailbox

so I could look up his number

and call him while he's in the shower

so I could watch him cross the room naked

to answer the phone in front of the picture window.

That would be wrong.

I want them back.

I refuse to squint through Pagliacci while you're trying

to watch The Magic Flute.

Dr. Crane,

I need your opinion on this outfit.

I wanted something

that sent no romantic signals whatsoever.

Well...

short of a cactus corsage, I think you've captured it.

You know, Daphne, it's been five years.

That's an awfully long time to carry a torch.

Maybe he just wants to say hello.

Oh, I certainly hope so.

The thought of having to reject the poor thing again

is more than I can bear.

Oh, dear. It's him.

Anything between me teeth?

No.

Do we have any spinach in the fridge?

Just answer the door.

Oh. Dr. Crane.

I was afraid you were Clive.

Clive? Oh, Clive.

Oh! Was that tonight?

Oh, well,

don't I feel silly

bringing over this thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle.

Niles, I'm sure

that Daphne doesn't want us horning in on her reunion.

We're going to dinner.

Can't we order in?

I've already assembled one kitten

and... and two yarn balls.

I'm getting my jacket.

Niles, for God's sake, will you give them

some privacy?!

Hello.

Hello.

Look at you. You look wonderful.

Oh, go on.

No, I mean it.

Very pretty and... warm.

So...

So...

Oh, God.

I've got a spot of axle grease on your sweater.

It's all right, really.

It's just a ratty old thing.

Please, come in.

Same old Clive, I see.

I suppose so.

So... uh... What brings you to Seattle?

My undying love for you.

Damn! I meant

to lead up to that. Sorry.