Word: dearest
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Ralph: Right, dearest. So doubtless we shall soon see Margaret Thatcher flogging Dr Pepper, and Queen Elizabeth in her royal quarters having an argument with Prince Philip over Mountain Dew. Maybe we can get Sandra Day O'Connor to push Gatorade. And how about Mother Teresa for Perrier? She could talk to us about choices for the poor...
Ralph: Let me get my coat off, dearest. I want to brace myself on the off chance that someone I love intends to launch a hearty feminist harangue. Am I about to hear that smiling is bad for women...
Ralph: Let us lapse briefly into logic, dearest. The average flight contains 40 or 50 people who are convinced that the plane is going to crash, maybe 50 who are enraged by the mandatory 30-minute delay in getting off the ground, and another 100 or so who are busy getting giddy or truculent through the magic of booze. Under the circumstances, which is better: a calming smile or a conventional dose of feminist grimness? Wanda: Pilots don't have to chuckle when they give one of those reassuring Chuck Yeager speeches saying that there's nothing to worry about...
Ralph: The idea of all those women's smiles dying unrequited is nauseating, dearest. We've got to get men beaming at full throttle to close that smile gap. Another hour of TV each week for Phil Donahue ought to do the trick...
Ralph: ". . . than you can with feminist theory." Good night, dearest...