07x08 - Home for the Holidays

[bunniefuu]

- Uh, Stephanie... you...

You might want to
dust under that bowl.

- I already did.

- I'll just... I'll just check.

- d*ck, if you lift that bowl,
it means you don't trust me

and things will never be
the same between us again.

- I'll take that chance.

- Neat freak!

- Honey, I just had the
most exciting lunch with Roz.

- Oh, really? What did you have?

- Well, chicken salad.

- Wow! No wonder you're excited.

- Was there a
centerpiece on your table?

- I believe so.

- Did you lift it to
check for dust?

Oh, who would do that?

- Oh, I don't know.

Maybe somebody
with a dust fixation.

- Anyway, Roz's
whole life is changing

and she said mine can, too.

- All these years,

I've underestimated the
power of chicken salad.

- Will you listen to me? I
finally found my true calling!

It combines personal
growth and fulfillment

with service to the community.

I'm going to sell real estate!

- That... that would
have been my guess.

- Roz says once I take my
exam and get my license,

I can join her at
Blue Horizon Realty.

d*ck, do you
realize in two weeks,

you could wake up next
to a real estate agent?

- Some men only dream of that.

- I hope they don't make you
wear one of those yucky blazers.

- Somehow I expected
a little more enthusiasm.

- Well, it's just that
you're always gung-ho

about some new project
and then you never stick to it.

At first you wanted
to be a travel agent,

then an aerobics instructor.

- Neither of those
quite fulfilled me.

- What about that dream
to master the harpsichord?

- That was too hard.

- The minute
something gets difficult,

you bail out.

You're like a career looky-lou.

- Well, maybe if you gave
me some encouragement

once in a while...

- I give you encouragement.

Didn't I go to that...
That harpsichord recital?

I mean, I was just as proud
as all the other moms and dads.

- d*ck, I really think
I can sell real estate.

- Okay, if you're
serious, I'm behind you.

- Do you mean that, honey?

- You bet!

- In that case, I'll need
$400 for the course.

- Then sell your harpsichord.

- Good morning, d*ck.

- George.

- What are you reading?

- My will.
- Oh my gosh, d*ck! No!

- George, I'm not dying yet.

- Oh, thank goodness!
So what's with the will?

- I just want to be prepared.

You know, in case
something does happen.

- God forbid.

- You know, George,
we don't have any heirs,

so Joanna and I have decided
to... to leave the inn to you.

- I'm speechless.

I never knew you
thought of me as a son.

- I-I don't, George.

We're, you know, we're
pretty much the same age.

- We are?

The years have certainly
taken their toll on you.

- Okay, here you go. Blueberry
pancakes and sausage.

- I didn't order that. I'm
allergic to blueberries.

- Okay. Then they're raisins.

Fine!

Most allergies are all
in the mind, you know.

- Gee, the next
time I see that will,

I'll own the inn and
you'll be... God forbid.

- Well, let's hope that's a
long time from now, George.

- Uh, let's not
rush things, d*ck.

- d*ck? Are you sick?

- No, I feel fine, Stephanie.

- No, I mean, about
leaving the inn to George.

What about me? Did I
do something wrong?

- No, Stephanie.

I just assumed that your parents
would be providing for you.

- Well, I'm sorry, but I
have to contest this will.

- Well, you can't contest
the will until after we're gone.

- And well, when do you
think you might be leaving?

- What would be
convenient for you?

Stephanie, why-why would
you want the Stratford?

You never seemed
particularly happy in your work.

- Excuse me. Miss, my pancakes?

- Oh, here! Just eat
around the blue parts.

I love my work!

- I just stopped by for
my daily quota of kiss.

Problemas in paradiso, Cuppers?

- I'm sorry, Michael.
It's just hard to be giving

when so much is
being taken from me.

- What's being taken
from you? Tell me.

- d*ck and Joanna have
cut me out of their will.

- d*ck, have you no
shred of decency?

- Stephanie was
never in our will.

- It just keeps
getting more heinous!

- They're leaving
the inn to George.

Obviously they like
him more than me,

and after all the sacrifices
I've made for them.

- Oh, I knew this would happen.

Miss, do you have
any antihistamines?

- You see, it never ends.

Follow me.

Hypochondriac.

- You make her your
beastette of burden

and then you bequeath her zip?

- Michael, Stephanie is
hardly overworked here,

and I assumed that her parents

would be bequeathing
her millions.

- Billions, d*ck.
For my last birthday,

Pop Vanderkellen granted
me a gander at the will.

It was stunning!

Oh, by the way, thanks
again for your card.

- You're welcome.

- d*ck, I have the
most exciting news!

- You had chicken salad again?

- Well, yes, but I
passed the test!

I got my real estate license.

- Thumbs up, JoJo.

- Well, congratulations,
honey. I-I knew you could do it.

- Really?

- Sure, an-and I'm proud of you.

As a matter of fact,
I'm... I'm more than proud.

I'm... I'm darn proud.

I'm... I'm going to
take this and frame it...

and hang it in my study.

- Your study? Wow,
you are darn proud.

- Joanna, I-I hate to niggle,
but are you... are you sure

you've got the grit to make
it in the real estate biz?

- I can be gritty. I
can be darn gritty.

- Those people are sharks.

On the very day my
grandfather's ashes

were scattered over the ocean,

my sweet grandmother was
hounded into selling her house.

- Oh, that's awful.

- I know. I should
have waited a day.

But from then on,

I knew I wasn't cut out
to be a real estate agent.

- Well, I don't see
the job that way at all.

I think it's more about finding
what a client's tastes are,

whether it's Victorian,
Tudor, split-level,

and then matching them
up with their dream house.

- Well, what if their
taste whispers Tudor,

but their wallet wails
roach-infested shack

by the highway?

- Well, then, I'll just wait
until something fumigated

comes along.

- Damn. Before you can
say escrow-change-o,

some vulture comes
along and sells that shack,

only now it's a cozy cottage.

The highway spells easy access

and the roaches
become rustic charm.

- Oh, come on, Michael.
There's still room

for a real estate broker
with honesty and integrity.

- Yeah, there's plenty of
room. You'll be the only one.

- Hi, George. Are you
hammering something?

- I'm replacing the old
nails with wooden pegs.

- You're such a craftsman.

How I love this old inn.

- Did you know d*ck and
Joanna left the inn to me

in their will?

- Oh-h-h-h! What
a lovely gesture.

If there's anyone who
treasures this glorious landmark

as much as me, it's you, George.

- Gee, thanks.

- I'm sure you and
your family will...

oh, that's right,

you don't really have a
family, do you, George?

- No.

- Well, if it makes
you feel any better,

I've always thought of you
as a member of my family

or at least a member
of my family's staff.

- Are you subtly hinting

that you'd like me
to leave you the inn?

- Oh, George, I never imagined!
Me, mistress of the Stratford!

- I'm not sure, Stephanie.

I don't know if you've got
what it takes to be a mistress.

- d*ck?

- Hi, Joanna.

- Honey, you know that lovely
couple we met in group therapy?

Tommy Lee and Tish Holliday?

- You mean the-the lovely couple

who-who smashed
Dr. Kaiser's windshield in

with a tire iron because
she didn't validate?

- They apologized.

Anyway, they want
me to sell their house!

- I thought they
lived in a trailer.

- They do, but they
want to move up.

Tish won a nice
bundle at a cock fight.

- I guess she knew
when to walk away.

- Now they can afford
to buy a real house,

and they want me
to find it for them.

I wonder where I
should start looking.

- How about Tijuana?

- d*ck, it's taken me two
weeks, but I finally figured it out.

- Figured what out?

- Why you're leaving
the inn to George,

your pet handyman,

instead of to your devoted,

hardworking charwoman
who has slaved for years

for meager wages,

and a few scraps
from your dinner table.

- Well, don't worry
about Joanna.

She'll be fine.

- No, d*ck, I'm
talking about myself.

- How unusual!

- Anyway, I realize
that I must have done

something horrendous
to you in the past.

- Stephanie, I've told you,
you have done nothing.

- I know better, d*ck. It's
all right here in my diary.

Here. Read it. June 2, 1986.

- "I got a postcard from
my best friend Libby.

"She's cruising
the Mediterranean

"with a prince named Giorgio
and they're talking marriage.

I hope she dies."

What... what does
this have to do with

my not leaving you the inn?

- d*ck, that was that day that
I didn't give 100% to my work

and walked around pouting.

- I thought that was yesterday.

Stephanie, I have no
recollection of that day at all.

- You don't remember?

Wow, then I must have
done something even worse.

Well, I'm going to find out
what it is and make restitution.

I swear it!

- "June 3. Saw d*ck
in his underwear.

Ewwww!"

Hi. Hi, honey.

Did you close the
deal on the trailer?

- Just this afternoon.

New owners hitched
it up and drove it away.

- I-I-I have to hand it to you.

You're... you're
handling this really well.

- Well...

- So, uh, how are the Hollidays
enjoying their new home?

- Well, they're not
really enjoying it yet.

You see, I didn't quite
make the sale of the trailer

contingent on my
finding them a new house.

- What... what are you saying?

That they... they
have no place to stay?

- Oh, yeah. They do.

- Well, sh**t off my
pinkie and call me Betty.

This place is a damn palace!

Well, don't just
stand there, Tish.

Go out and haul in
that steamer trunk.

- And, uh, where do you
plan on living, Joanna?

- Ooooh, what a babe!

Do you ever think about cheatin'
on the little woman, Loudon?

- No, but if I did,

it wouldn't be with Judy Jetson.

Tommy Lee, I, uh, I
don't appreciate Louis on...

on my sofa.

- You want him off?

Throw some Cheetos on the floor.

He'll dive for 'em.

- He's not moving.

- He's seen Tish fall
for it too many times.

- d*ck...

I'm not one to complain,

but Joanna's friends are
ruining my... your... our inn.

Are those Cheetos on the floor?

- Pigs. They're... they're pigs.

- d*ck, I finally
figured it out.

It was that time I told you

I mailed your manuscript
to your publisher,

but instead, I lost it,

and so, I sent you that
phony rejection letter.

- You did what?

- Oh, you didn't know?

I thought for sure that was it.

- Oh, you're a sweet one.
You make me think things.

- Ewwww!

- It's okay. Maybe he meant me.

- Um, Tommy Lee, maybe
you and your... family should...

spend more time
in... In your room.

It's nice up there... and
completely out of sight.

- What's the point of
spendin' time in the bedroom?

Tish is already preggos.

- Well, it's hard to
argue with that logic.

- Stratford Inn.
Yeah, just a minute.

It's for you. It's your foreman.

- Uh, I'm in the
middle of my story.

Say I'm sick.

- You're not sick.

- Oh, yeah?

Walk a mile in my brain, Loudon.

- He's uh... he-he-he's
sick... in the... in the head.

He's... he's got...
he's got a headache.

Why would I lie to you
about something like that?

- My foreman's
callin' you a liar?

Hang up on that
fat goon. I'm walkin'.

- No, no. You
can't. You can't quit.

Look, you don't have
to use language like that.

I... I am not the one...
Well, you sure talk tough.

She hung up on me.

- Tish, we've looked
at nine houses.

Didn't any of them
appeal to you?

- We need a lot of space, Jo.

I mean, call me
a fertile Myrtle,

but I think the good Lord's
blessed me and Tommy Lee

with a doubleheader.

- Well, congratulations! Twins.

- Hmmm, that would be nice, too.

Tommy Lee! What
are you doin' here?

You said you couldn't come
house huntin' 'cuz you was workin'.

- Uh, uh... the company went
under... right after you left.

- You lyin' ol' rummy.

Now how we gonna afford a
house with you out of a job?

- Darlin', we can struggle by

'til the next cock
fight comes along.

- Sure, that may be
fine for some people,

but we just can't go on livin'
from cock fight to cock fight.

I need stability. I need
a steady paycheck.

- Maybe I'm old-fashioned,
but I don't feel right about you

climbin' up them phone
poles in that condition.

- What have I
gotten myself into?

Maybe I'm just not cut out
to be a real estate broker.

- Joanna, I'm only
going to say this once...

you can be anything
you want to be.

If you want to be my
wife, get them out of here.

- Still haven't put a
roof over the riffraff?

- Oh, Michael, I'm
in way over my head.

I'm turning out to be the
worst real estate agent

in the history of land.

I can't sell a thing!

- Hey, banish those blues, Jo.

Let old Michael Harris
help you hoist your hopes.

- There's no use looking
through the real estate section.

We've already seen
every house listed.

- Right idea, wrong section.

Hello, Mrs. Kimmel? Yes, hi.

I'm calling from
Blue Horizon Realty.

We'd like to express
our deep, deep sorrow

over the loss of your beloved...
- Oh!

I will not take advantage
of this poor woman!

Dammit, Tish.

You didn't have to go and
throw my damn handgun

through the damn picture tube!

- You must be so lonely rattling
around in that big old house.

- You will take good care
of my old house, won't you?

- You bet. I got big
decoratin' plans right here.

- And what would
they be, Tommy Lee?

Another beer can room divider?

- Just put one more
straw on my back, Tish.

- Well, looks like all
the papers are in order.

This calls for a celebration.

I'd like to take everyone to
dinner at the Drum and Musket.

- I hate the Drum and Musket.

That's where I first
met... my demons.

- How about Burger King?

- Burger King's good.
- Good!

- We'll meet ya there, Jo.

I'd like to stop by the house

and measure the window
in the back bedroom.

- Oh, curtains would
look lovely there.

- Oh, not curtains... bars.

We'll be keepin' our
boy Harold in that room.

- Every now and again,

when he needs
a place to lay low.

- So how'd it go?
- All done.

- You know, uh,
through all of this,

I have to admit I had my doubts,

but, uh, you...
you saw it through.

- I did make some
pretty big mistakes,

and I'll probably
be making more.

- Well, not as big
as this last one.

- Oh, I don't know.

- Say... say it won't be
as big as this last one.

- Well, uh, Tommy Lee and
Tish couldn't actually get a loan

without a co-signer, and...
- You didn't!

How... how could
you co-sign their loan?

You... you don't own anything.

Except half of the Stratford.

- There's nothing to
worry about, really.

See, there's this big
cock fight coming up,

and Tish has this system.

- No jury in the world
would convict me!

- d*ck, I've come to a decision.

- About what, George?

- When you finally meet
your maker, God forbid...

I don't want you
leaving me the inn.

- Why not, George?

I thought you liked the
security of owning something.

- I do.

It's the responsibility
that's eating me alive.

The Stratford is like a ship.

Some... some people are meant
to be captains like you, d*ck,

and some are meant
to be swabbies.

- If that's the way you
really feel about it, George,

we won't leave you the inn.

- Oh, thanks, d*ck.

You've made me a
very happy swabby.

- Oh, uh, Stephanie.

We've decided to leave
you the inn after all.

- Really? What about George?

- He, uh, he passed on it.

- Oh, so basically I'm
getting George's rejects.

- No, you're getting
a 200-year-old inn.

- As an afterthought. I
wasn't your first choice.

- So?

- d*ck, I don't shop
at garage sales,

I don't wear used clothing,

and I certainly don't want
some old hand-me-down inn.

- You mean... you mean you
don't... You don't want the inn?

- Sorry. You had your chance.

- How... how could
you turn this down?

- d*ck, get off my back!

- Is it... is it
something I did?

Te-tell me what I did!

- Meow.