Girls

So, you had the kids write a poem

and then an essay explaining the literary antecedents of the poem.

- Yeah-huh. - That's cool.

I'm really happy with how the kids

interpreted the assignment.

What are you doing?

Ah, I just saw a couple things you didn't catch on the essay here.

- Fran, stop. - What?

- Seriously. - What are you doing? Don't... no.

- I don't care about that stuff. - Why are you crossing that out?

- I don't care about that stuff. - That's a misplaced adverb.

Yeah, I told them to just really focus on creativity

in this assignment and let everything else go.

But that's not proper English.

Yeah, and they can focus on proper English in another assignment.

I appreciate your creative approach with these kids, but I know them, okay?

And they need a bit of a push to be more rigorous,

so, sorry, but I just want to make sure

everyone learns the right thing, you know?

You and, uh, "Mail Brown."

It's Maile, it's Gaelic.

She doesn't like it when people call her "Mail." It embarrasses her.

Wow, this is an abomination.

Fran, I really don't want you to do this.

I'm sorry. That one I thought you wouldn't mind my correcting.

I mind all of it, okay? I mind every bit of it.

All right, there's one more. Can I please... there's one more.

- No, no, no. - Can I please...? It's one...

Oh, my God!

Hey, Frank.

Hey, Adele.

What?

You know, I have tried to be a responsible

and warmhearted neighbor to you, Marnie,

and, truthfully, it hasn't always been easy.

Uh, okay.

I just wish you and your boyfriend could extend the same courtesy

of spirit and action to me.

Well, actually, he's my husband now, so...

Whatever.

Oh, my God.

- Desi? - Yeah?

Desi! Hello?

Marn, ciao, Bella.

How you doing?

Uh, what the fuck is this?

Oh, guys, let's take... let's take five!

- Let's take a break. Hey. - Hi.

I thought you were getting back from your mom's tomorrow.

Well, uh, no, she... she got back together with her boyfriend.

She didn't need me anymore. What the...

- Bryce? - fuck is... Yeah. What the

fuck is going on?

Well, fuck, I was hoping we were gonna be

a little further along when you came home, but...

surprise.

Welcome to your new one-bedroom apartment.

Oh, my God.

Walk with me, if you will, into your bedroom.

Okay, imagine, if you would, right,

- Sunday morning. - Oh, my God.

You're lying in bed browsing podcasts.

Meanwhile, on the other side of this wall,

unbeknownst to you, guess who's in the studio/kitchen

practicing fingerpicking and making you chilaquiles.

Come on, you know how you're always talking about how we need more space.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I definitely said I wanted more space.

And yet somehow now I have less space

because there's a giant fucking wall in the middle of my apartment.

Well, yes, if you think about it

in terms of technical square footage...

- Yeah. - then you are correct,

but we will have more privacy,

which is what you meant when you said more space.

No, it's not. I literally meant that I needed more space.

How much is this gonna cost us?

Like, nothing. I mean, nothing. We're getting a seriously good deal.

I mean, the wall pretty much pays for itself.

Okay, how?

Okay, well, you know how you always go into the coffee shop to work

and you have to keep buying tea so that they don't kick you out?

Well, that costs a lot of money, Marn.

Actually, three grand a year.

So in a little more than a year, this will be all paid off.

- That is insane. - Don't call me insane.

You know my mother used to call me insane.

I did not call you insane. I said, "That is insane."

What is this? This is a crazy tiny little shelf.

What the fuck do you put on this shelf?

Excuse me.

- That's a custom shelf... - Oh.

- for my Ray Bradbury Digest collection. - Oh, my God. I see how it is.

- What? - This is all for you.

This is all for fuckin' you.

No, Marnie, this is all for you!

Actually, all I have is a teensy fucking tiny Digest shelf.

No, you do what you want

- You're good. - when you want, how you wanna do it

and it's like I don't even fucking exist.

- Have you seen... no, you're good, bro, - Excuse me. Jesus!

you're good. Are you kidding me? You're gonna walk out?

Yeah.

Keep walking.

Man.

This is no reflection on your work, all right?

I pushed that double stroller for two miles up a fucking hill.

The twins were crying and I just...

I told them to shut up because I was concentrating on not having a drink.

I hate motherhood.

I know I'm supposed to love it, but I don't.

It's so fucking boring.

My kids are a year and a half.

They can't even speak English yet.

Oh, this is a women's meeting.

Oh, no. Uh, sorry.

Okay, I'll wait till you go.

Oh, fucker, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Fuck.

So, um, I'm still breast-feeding, not by choice.

- Hey. - Hi.

You don't usually go to this meeting.

What, are you stalking me? Seriously, chill.

I was in the neighborhood.

Since when are you ever in fucking Tribeca?

The only reason to come here is to pickpocket a yuppie.

Oh, yeah, by the way. Here you go.

Practicing for an audition.

You didn't.

This is yours!

Someone told me you're only going to women's meetings.

Yeah, I need sisterhood.

Yeah, well, these are meetings I can't go to.

And you're not returning any of my texts.

They're barely sentences. "You need eat"?

What... that doesn't even make any sense.

Why the fuck are you avoiding me?

Because it's a horrid idea

and because I'm focused on my studies and because...

you smell like ham.

Oh, and you fuckin' love it.

And because of Hannah.

- Oh, fuckin' balls! - I'm sorry. I'm so...

You know she wouldn't do the same thing if she was in your position.

She'd just throw herself right at whatever she wanted.

Unlike you. You're a pussy.

I didn't say I liked her!

That's how I got pregnant, so, careful.

Look at them over there.

Crawling over each other for a chance to sip that million-dollar lidless coffee.

While in here, my world is crumbling.

Silently, relentlessly crumbling.

Excuse me, sir, would you like another scone?

Sir?

Gonna throw them out anyway.

Do you even care? Do you give one flying fuck about my economic decimation?

Yeah, a little.

A little.

Spiritually, how am I supposed to negotiate

with a society that rewards those shaggy-haired dickholes? Tell me.

'Cause I can't. I don't know how to. You know...

What the fuck are you doing?

I'm trying to see if there's hair on my lower

back. I feel like there is, but it's very... it's very subtle.

Let me take a look.

Wow, it's like a baby's bottom. Very smooth. Do you wax?

No, never. Just... just very lucky.

Yeah, my lower back tends to get a little bushy

if I neglect to prune it.

Well, you just never know when new hair is gonna start

sprouting out of someplace on your body, right?

- I know. - I mean, you know.

So I can only presume you have a hot date tonight?

Uh, yeah, let's just say that...

I'd like my lower back to make a good impression.

Who's the lucky guy?

Ray, I'm sorry, but I really shouldn't say. He's, um... he's quite famous.

Dill Harcourt.

Let's not make a big deal out of this, okay?

I didn't say a word.

It's just gonna be just a very simple,

small dinner party at Lattanzi.

What the fuck is that?

Ray, Lattanzi is a very famous Theater District eatery.

It's just very stressful for me because

Dill has so many celebrated and influential friends.

It's hard to say who could be there.

It might be Diane Sawyer, Graydon Carter.

He was texting with Amanda Knox the other day.

- Didn't she kill someone? - No.

Maybe.

Patty Clarkson. I saw... I-I-I saw them

in a magazine once together.

Her friends call her Patty.

Patty Clarkson.

Hey, Maile. What's up?

What happened to my poem?

Does it look weird to you or is it...?

There's actually a lot of weird instances

where the first lady and the president don't even sleep

in the same bedroom, which is...