Mike & Molly

Chamomile and honey for my lady. Beer and Clamato for me.

Thank you. Why in the hell you drink that stuff?

Right back at you.

Hey, you given any thought on what you like to do for our honeymoon?

Kind of had my heart set on intercourse.

Obviously, that's contingent on how much I drink at the reception.

Oh, no. You'll be putting out, pal.

It's my wedding night, and I plan on losing my virginity again.

Duly noted.

Now, I know its kinda cliché,

but I was thinking honeymooning in Paris could be really romantic.

Paris, France?

No, Mike. Paris, Tennessee.

You jest, but it does have a mini Eiffel Tower

and is home to the world's largest fish fry.

Why did I ever buy you that Eatin' Atlas of America?

It's the best Christmas present I ever got.

It's my bible and my wish book.

And the most dog-eared piece of literature in the bathroom.

But I was thinking more of the European Paris.

Springtime, we're sitting at a sidewalk cafe,

sipping little cups of chocolat...

Hey, if it's chocolate you're craving,

we should just go to the belly of the beast.

Hershey, Pennsylvania.

It's an entire city dedicated to the magical cocoa bean.

Very tempting, but, um...

Paris has history and these amazing museums

and beautiful architecture.

You know what you just described?

Cleveland, Ohio.

They got the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame there,

and it's shaped like a big guitar.

Good to know.

That's history, architecture and museum combined.

It's the Jell-O 1-2-3 of vacation spots.

All roads really do lead back to food for you, don't they?

I just want to go somewhere special.

Then how about driving to Missouri

and taking an old-timey paddleboat ride

down the mighty Mississip?

Sure, and when we drop anchor in Saint Louie,

maybe we can go get a big old bucket of Ozark puddin'.

How'd you know about Ozark puddin'?

Ah, I read.

Vince, drop it!

I told you, he's an old friend, and we're having dinner!

Not just any old friend, an old boyfriend!

Ugh! Will you explain to this lunkhead that a woman is capable

of being "just friends" with an old, former lover?

Hey, if it didn't end with name calling and tire slashing,

then the embers of desire are still smoldering.

Actually, Vince, I'm friends with almost all my exes.

Yeah, but they were all "swishes."

How'd you put it, Mike?

"Like the front row of a Cher concert"?

I never used the word "swish""

I said "pansy""

Mom, who are you meeting, anyway?

Remember Richard?

Ooh, Richard. Wow.

What does that mean, "Ooh, Richard. Wow"?

Nothing.

I forbid you to go out with Ooh Richard Wow!

Oh, you forbid me?

Well, that changes everything.

Don't wait up!

Okay, you can go.

But I want you back here by 10:00!

And your panties better not be in your purse!

Don't be such an ass!

You know I never wear panties with this dress.

Story of my life.

I give a woman my heart,

and she says, "No thanks."

Balls, please."

Mike, say something.

Oh. Sure.

Vince, when somebody says the word "chocolate,"

what city springs to mind?

She expects me to believe

that some old boyfriend calls her up out of the blue,

and just wants to take her to dinner.

Who the hell does that?

Well, Vince, human behavior has changed a lot

since you slithered out of the ocean and lost your tail.

I don't even know what that means.

Was that a shot?

Yes, it was.

It's not a big deal.

Mom and Richard dated a long time ago.

He was a pilot, she was working as a flight attendant.

I know what goes on between pilots and "stews."

I've seen more than my share of pornography.

Ugh.

He's not wrong.

It is one of the more popular storylines.

Which I don't watch.

I'll bet at this very minute, she's helping that jet jockey

into his full and upright position.

Vince, you're talking about my mother.

You're right. Not for your ears.

Her mother's a sexual volcano.

Insatiable.

I can still hear you.

Apologies.

One time,

we were at the Olive Garden,

and she took her shoe off under the table...

Get him out of here.

Vince, let's go grab a beer.

And I don't know how she does it,

but her big toe and second toe

can form an almost perfect circle.

If I didn't know any better, I'd swear it was my own hand.

I should have locked Joyce in her closet,

and then met that guy at the restaurant, swinging a rake.

You know, that's technically kidnapping

and assault with a deadly weapon.

Oh, what are you gonna be tonight?

A cop or a friend?

I'm kind of feeling the need to be both.

Look, when you're in a relationship,

you can't just forbid the other person from doing stuff.

Otherwise, it's guaranteed they're gonna do it.

That's just human nature.

What the hell are you talking about?

Threats and ultimatums are the glue of love.

Without it, we're no better than animals.

In my experience, you have to have give and take.

Like this whole honeymoon thing with me and Molly.

She wants to go to Paris and I don't.

What do you got against Paris? It's beautiful.

Plus, if you can stomach pit hair on chicks,

you can see free boobs on TV.

You should be a travel agent.

But I'm still not gonna risk my life flying

half way across the world just to see free boobs.

That's where you and I differ.

I'd fly to Bangladesh to see a pair of knockers.

So what's the problem?

You afraid of flying?

No! But when I'm traveling,

I like knowing if there's trouble,

I can jump out of a window without plummeting to my death.

Can you imagine the size crater you'd make?

Tourists could ride mules to the bottom.

What I'm saying is, I can't just say to Molly,

"We're not going to Paris""

because then we'd definitely be going to Paris.

So you're telling me if I don't want Joyce to bang that guy,

I should say, "Hey, Joyce, go bang that guy"?

No, that's not even close to what I'm saying.

Then make your point and stop dancing around the subject

like some kind of woman.

Look...

if you really care about Joyce,

maybe try using a gentler approach.

Less shouting, more listening.

You mean, like...

"Joyce, love of my life, answer to my prayers,

"if I find out you're banging that flyboy,

I'll kill all three of us."

You know, I think this is why we don't hang out more.

So did you and Mike figure out a honeymoon spot yet?

Well, I'm still hoping for a pied-Ã terre in Paris,

but he's still pushing for a pop-up camper in the backyard.

I would say try and meet in the middle,

but I can't imagine where that would be.

I'm starting to think he's not too keen on flying.

Every time I bring it up, he turns all pale and clammy.

He gets the same way when I ask who ate all my Chips Ahoy.

Yeah, pale and clammy is kind of his tell.

Mine's whistling.

You are a nervous whistler.

Hey, what if you cured his fear of flying with hypnosis?

And while he's under,

tell him my cookies are actually rattlesnakes.

Hey. There she is.

And home by 10:30.

How was your date?

What are you talking about? It wasn't a date!

It was dinner. Nothing more.

Sorry.

Every time you go out to dinner, is it a date?

Yes, but not with every date do I get dinner.

Yeah, well, this was just dinner.

We ate, we caught up, I got the hell out of there.

Okay, fine.

Why don't you worry about your own lives?

God. Two grown women with nothing better to do

than gossip about their mother while sucking down her wine!

Wow, what's up with her?

Hard to say.

Having dinner with an old boyfriend can be very emotional.

Especially when they slide an STD pamphlet across the table.

Morning.

Morning, sweetheart.

You want some breakfast?

No. I don't want to put you out.