The Marrying Kind Page #3

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Artistic. He's gonna paint his a light green,

and mine a light pink.

Why light, pray?

Wait a minute,

I have to look at something on the stove.

Mama!

The kitchen!

I'm giving us pork chops for lunch.

Joan likes them.

- You like them, too, don't you?

- Lf they're reliable.

- And Emily likes any old thing.

- She looks it.

- Listen, Mama, none of that.

- None of what?

I made up my mind,

this is gonna be one family...

without all the in-laws

always biting at each other.

Emily is Chet's sister and I love her.

And so do you.

I am not going to love anybody

who's married to a butcher.

Pat is a very fine person,

and you love him, too...

- The same as her.

- I do, do I?

- Yes, you do.

- Well, that's very nice of me.

- What's that?

- A present, I guess.

I don't think we bought anything that shape.

You never know.

They wrap things up so crazy.

Can you afford a radio as expensive

as this one looks like to me?

No, but Mr. Clarence F. Dow can.

- Who?

- You know, my old boss.

I didn't remember he had an "F" in him.

The least he could do is a generous gift,

after all I took from him.

Took what?

Isn't this gorgeous!

A cigarette box!

- Is it real leather?

- From the girls at the office.

"When you light up at the end of the day...

"think of Edie and Marian...

"and Gloria and Min and Charlotte and Mae. "

Yeah, you know if that's real leather,

it costs something. Smell it.

It's real leather!

- How are things going, Ed?

- No strain.

- Hey, Chet. Up here!

- Hi, boy!

- Welcome to our city.

- How are you, George?

Fine. And you?

No change.

- How's Florence?

- Fine.

- How come you don't look no different?

- Why should I?

- Or maybe you ain't adjusted yet?

- I'm adjusted.

In fact, I never had it so good.

- I got something to go for now, after all.

- Yeah? Like what?

Like getting someplace,

like a family man should.

Yeah, I can see you're adjusted, all right.

I got figuring something the other day.

To make good, you don't have

to be smart all your life.

You only have to be smart

for about 10 seconds, that's all.

What do you mean, 10 seconds?

This guy who thought up the idea

of the windshield wiper.

All right, how long did it take him

to think it up?

Ten seconds, maybe less.

From then on, everything rolls, or anything.

The telephone, or the subway.

Cellophane.

Or even take the wheel.

Whoever thought up the wheel?

- I bet it didn't take more than 10 seconds.

- Boy, married life's sure made you deep.

Anyway, that's the sort of lines

I'm thinking along.

Three, four years you'll be

bald-headed, or gray-haired, or both.

- See you, George!

- Don't take any wooden 10 seconds!

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