Terms of Endearment

Let me go, just for a minute.

You're going to stare that baby

into a coma.

Stop exaggerating.

It's not good to keep checking

and imagining terrible things.

- I know, I know.

- Here it starts. Here we go.

Rudyard...

Rudyard, she's not breathing.

Honey, she's sleeping.

The baby's sleeping.

No...

- Rudyard, it's crib death.

- It's sleep!

- She's asleep, honey.

- Maybe.

Come on!

Emma.

Oh, good.

That's better.

No, thank you.

Thanks. Emma?

He was one of the most dependable men

that ever worked for me.

- I know. Thank you.

- He was a good man.

I'm real sorry about your daddy.

Take care of your momma.

Emma? Emma, wake up, please.

- Wake up.

- What's wrong?

I was tense and I was wondering

how you were feeling.

- Would you like to sleep in my bed?

- No, thank you.

Would you like to sleep

in my bed again?

Yes!

What are we going to do

with this hair?

Hey, Emma!

Patsy, hurry up!

You're going to miss him.

Oh, that's what they were looking at!

- Good night, honey.

- Where's Momma?

That old fart's trying

to get in her pants.

- What if the astronaut shows up?

- Oh, they're everywhere in Houston!

- Say hi to Race.

- OK. Love ya. Astronauts!

So?

- We better get going.

- I'll say goodbye. Want to go with?

No. I don't think I'm up to it today.

Sure would be nice

to have a mother somebody liked.

Why don't you accept the fact that

you have certain biological needs?

- Because I don't.

- Mom! I'm going now.

Excuse me.

Can you believe it?

He wants to take me to Tahiti.

I don't know why you treat these men

like this. They have feelings too.

- Has the astronaut moved in yet?

- Who?

Patsy teaching you coy lessons?

Breedlove. Has he moved in?

- Put your socks up!

- Say goodbye to Patsy.

- Be home by eleven.

- Say goodbye to Patsy.

- Goodbye, Patsy!

- Thank you.

In this day and age, anything goes!

I feel really foolish getting stoned

to hear Mary Martin.

See, Patsy...

This is not Mary Martin,

this is Ethel Merman.

This is the last time

we're gonna be like this.

I just plain refuse

to get into that kind of thinking.

It should not stop.

I mean, we're gonna be best friends.

Our babies will be best friends.

We'll all be best friends.

Oh, God!

- Just a minute.

- Open the door.

Emma, open the door.

Just a minute.

- I need to talk to you!

- All right.

I'm getting married. What the hell?

- Meet me in my room?

- Yes.

- What do you think she wants?

- Maybe to tell you how to have sex.

What?! No. She only knows

how to avoid it.

I can't believe you said that.

I didn't mean it.

I didn't mean it, I swear.

What have you been doing, Emma?

Nothing.

What is it, Momma?

I really want to get some sleep so

I look halfway decent for tomorrow.

Come on. What is it?

Would you want me to be silent

about something for your own good?

Yes, ma'am, I would!

OK, come on.

Come on.

I've been in here all night.

I've been trying to decide what...

what wedding gift to get you.

I thought of that Renoir

that my mother gave me.

But I couldn't reach a conclusion.

Then I came to grips with the reason

why I couldn't think of a gift.

Oh, Momma, it's all right.

I need dishes, a rotisserie...

The car...the house...

I'm totally convinced

if you marry Flap Horton tomorrow,

it will be a mistake

of such gigantic proportions,

it will ruin your life

and make wretched your destiny.

Why are you doing this to me?

You are not special enough

to overcome a bad marriage.

Use your brains.

Flap is limited.

He hasn't got any imagination.

Even at this age, all he wants

is a secure teaching job.

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