"I hate going there, you know, what with all those old funny women."
"It's fine. I'll just go alone. Like basically every time."
"God you make me feel so guilty, but they're just so miserable about everything - they make me feel so fucking uncomfortable."
"I said, it's fine."
"It's like they're desperately sad about having old saggy tits and a cervix that's drooped so far it's peeping out their snatch like a hungry mussel. It's not my fault is it? They're always huffing cigarettes and being comfortable about being overweight. What kind of example is that for our child? I just want to spend a weekend in peace where I don't have to make polite and I can make a dinner I actually want to eat."
"How about this then, I go out, I attend this barbecue for a few hours, you stay here and make whatever food you want in the world, sit down, eat it slowly and enjoy each bite, heck - watch an episode of your favourite season of Dexter or whatever, and when I get back, we file for divorce."