Meredith: I dunno Hank, you seem to have me all figured out, why don't you give it a try?
Hank: No, no.
Charlie: Yeah, why don't we skip that, order something...how about some wine?
Marcy: Oh honey trust me, getting your asshole bleached would be much more fun.
Meredith: [laughs]
Charlie: Is there a waiter...waiter, garcon?
Hank: I don't think you want me to do that.
Meredith: Oh, sure I do. Tell me a little bit about myself, I mean, That's what writers do, right; make up stuff. C'mon! It'll be fun.
Hank: Okay. I think you were born in the Valley. Nice part though, Hidden Hills, Calabasses, somethin' like that. Your father was middle-management, white-collar executive. Stay at home mom. Didn't want to stray too far to go to college so you went to USC. UCLA? I know, SC, SC.. yeah? You had a serious boyfriend in college, but you broke up right after he married the next one. You got a low-maintenance gig in the Human Resources Industry, you had a string of bad relationships; you put on some weight. You looked around and you saw all your friends starting to pair up and get married, so you decided you should lose the weight, joined a gym, you got a dick, and maybe did a little running. Say you want to work, maybe you start your own party-planning business; you fancy yourself kind of a poor gal's Martha Stewart, but what you really wanna do: sit at home, on the couch, with some poor sap watching reality tv while he watches you get fat again.
Charlie: Okay, Hank...
Hank: Now you're giving me that look, right now, look like I finger-banged your cat. [laughs] ...But what you're really thinking is if I managed to get out of here in the next ten or fifteen minutes, I could still make it home in time to watch America's Next Top Model, which I have TIVO'd, I swear to God; that show is fierce!