Original subtitles

Hi, George. You're in good spirits today. I just hung up a new birdhouse in

elm tree.

Soon Mr. and Mrs.

Bluebird will move in and make that house a home.

Oh, I hate to bring it down, George, but I just saw two sparrows eyeing that

place. Sparrows? Where's my shotgun?

Relax, George. I don't think they're moving in. I think they're a couple of,

know, looky -loos.

Salaam, Sultan and Sultana.

My, Joanna, don't we look chic?

Thank you, Michael. I can never get enough of your Arabic wit.

There, there.

Little Steffi Weffy was just hungry, wasn't he?

Nay, nay, Mommy dearest, we agreed not to babble and baby talk like other

parents.

Okay, cupper weppers?

Of course, Mikey Ikey.

Dickie's getting sicky.

Stephanie, darling.

Libby, darling.

Scooter, darling.

What a darling surprise.

You're the one who's full of surprises, pet.

We were jetting in from Berlin.

Big bash at the wall, don't you know?

When Kim and Anastasia DuPont told us of the blessed event.

Really, dear? We never got an announcement.

I thought I sent one to everyone who mattered.

Water under the yacht.

Maybe you remember old Dick. Of course. Who could ever forget dear Richard?

We met in New York at that society thing for one of those causes.

And this must be your... Inn.

We call it an inn.

And this is Joanna.

We call it a wife.

How do you do? Hello.

My, what an unusual sweater.

But I suppose there's not a lot to choose from up here, is there?

My wardrobe has suffered so since my loom broke down.

You must be the baby's father.

No, no.

Michael is the father.

At least that's what Stephanie's led us to believe.

That's George, the handyman. This is my Michael.

Howdy doody, Libby Scooty.

Jumping Gibraltar, what a rock.

Did you happen to notice my little bubble?

Yes, and I'm so worried. I can't imagine how you'll ever get it off over those

enormous knuckles.

I don't plan to take it off, Sweetsie.

It's my wedding ring.

Why, Scooter, so you actually married our Libby. Or should I say the rowing

team's Libby.

This must be your baby.

She's just darling.

Too bad about her hair.

I'm sure she'll grow some eventually.

Well, let's hope it'll be on her little head and not on her chinny -chin chin.

By the way, you'd never know it to look at me, but Scooter and I have had a

baby, too, haven't we? Well, you did all the grunt work, Precious.

Tiffany. Isn't she just perfect? Well, she's a little zostic.

George, I think Libby was talking about the baby.

Oh, oh.

I apologize for that zostic remark.

Excuse me. I'm going outside and shoot some birds.

Richard and wife, isn't Tiffy the most beautiful little girl you've ever seen?

You're expected to say yes.

Yes. No.

Well, she's certainly, definitely on my top two list.

You're putting Tiffany in the same league with that little bald girl?

Well, thanks for stopping by.

Oh, no, we'll be staying, old girl. Yes, we'd like two rooms, please. One for

Libby, myself, and child, and one for Mrs. Butterworth.

Mrs. Butterworth?

I love your maple syrup.

I've never heard that one before.

Come on, Stephanie. Grab their bags and we'll show them to their room.

Oh, Scooter.

Isn't this delicious?

Stephanie will be our own personal slave girl.

Slave girl. How dare she?

Might go carry their bags up. Yes, master.

Stephanie, I had no idea you were so good at menial tasks.

If you ever need a job, Scooter could find you something at one of our fast

restaurants.

Perhaps a position at the drive -by window.

Well, thanks anyway, but this is really just kind of a hobby.

Certainly seems that way to me.

Now be sure to treat Mrs. Butterworth well.

She's used to having excellent service at home.

Well, then she should get back there as soon as possible.

Your baby is a fussy little one, isn't she?

Well, maybe it's just the scent of rancid perfume in the air.

Steph, I hate to eat it and beat it, but I really should trot over to the

station for a tan.

Michael is general manager of WPIV.

And our little Steffi owns the station.

Really?

Our little Tiffany doesn't need to work.

Well, our Steffi doesn't need to work either.

She just enjoys the pleasure she gets out of pushing people around.

I must admit, your Tiffany is pretty.

Considering.

Cattiness looks so ugly on you, Stephanie.

So does most of her wardrobe.

But I understand your dilemma.

Your baby could never be Tiffany's equal.

Because her father isn't a blue blood.

I may not be officially blue -blooded, but I strongly believe I'm as snobby as

the next man.

Once a mongrel, always a mongrel.

Come along, Scooter.

Dear George promised we could watch him fix some things.

It's a shame we didn't bring that damn cat of yours along.

Here to join us, dear Richard. George is bound to be good for a yuck.

I'm pretty much yucked up for the day.

Do you think that it's possible that baby Steph isn't as perfect as Tiffany?

Because Tiffany was all quiet on the Stratford front while little Steffi was

kid on the river cry?

You can't compare babies.

They're both perfect in their own ways.

Leave it to Joanna to try to soothe us with a sunny observation.

Okay, what way?

Don't ask me. I might slip and say something sunny.

Um...

Well, Tiffany has lots of curly hair and

adorable dimples and the longest eyelashes.

And baby Steph has a chin.

Every baby has a chin. Yeah, but not that.

Pronounced. Michael, Tiffany does have bigger dimples. And gobs and gobs of

Goldilocks.

Face it, Michael. Our perfect baby's bald and bitchy.

Notice

anything

new, Vo, about our babe in tow?

Oh, my.

Look at all the hair she's grown in the last two hours.

Keep it under your hats, cats, but those follicles are faux.

It's a tiny toupee.

Amazing way of life, like, don't you think?

Kind of reminds me of a drooling Ted Koppel.

See? I told you we should have gone with the Deborah Norville.

What's the use? We can't even fool these fops.

It's not fair. There is a flaw in my ointment.

Oh, Michael.

We made a terrible mistake.

We married for love.

Oh, stupid, stupid Cupid.

There's nothing wrong with marrying for love. Look at us.

Oh, stupid, stupid Cupid.

You realize what this means?

Would you mind telling me... What the hell are you talking about? We're

a divorce.

Stephanie? Bye, Michael.

Michael, Michael, Michael, freeze.

You don't have to be so dramatic, Dick Olivier.

A simple weight effect would have sufficed.

What are you doing? Don't you listen to us when we're hysterical? We're getting

a divorce.

I'll try to find a nice lawyer, Steph. I will, too.

This is unbelievable.

That we could find two nice lawyers?

Justice Jojo's right. We'll settle out of court, Cuppers. You take everything.

Deal.

Oh, Michael.

Our marriage is...

Lips sliding away.

I guess now there are 51 ways to leave your lover.

That cinches it. Are you two out of your minds?

I mean, don't you want to see your little girl grow up?

Hmm, that'd be nice.

Maybe Chicago's too far. Is there a state that borders Vermont?

No. No.

No, we're surrounded by water.

Then I'll rent a houseboat off the coast of Vermont and I'll get a job at an

offshore TV station.

Farewell, my former wife.

I'd ask for a lock of our baby's hair, but thanks to my dorky DNA, she doesn't

have any.

She's, uh... She's whimpering. I guess, you know, one of us should say

something.

Well, you know me and my sunny disposition.

I'd probably just make matters worse by curing her up.

Stephanie, we need to talk. Oh, I know what you're thinking.

That even though I'm incredibly attractive as a single mother, I'll

date.

No, that wasn't exactly what I... Well, get this straight.

My eternal love for Michael shall never die, and I swear by all that's holy that

I shall never remarry.

Why, do you know someone?

Look, I'm about to tell you one of my long -winded stories. Maybe you'd better

sit down.

Maybe I better lie down.

Well, when I was a boy, I had a problem

similar to yours.

I didn't have a baby, of course, but I did have a guppy.

See, Ethel was a purebred and very beautiful.

Like me?

A scalier.

Anyway, Ethel was in love with this other guppy, Maurice.

Oh, a French guppy.

Well, French -Canadian.

Anyway, they had lots and lots of babies.

Dick, is this story going anywhere?

It must be.

Oh, I've got it. Ethel and Maurice loved their children so much, they didn't

care if, you know, they were the laughingstock of the tank.

So much so that they finally...

Ate them.

Ew.

But you know, Ethel and Maurice are a lot like Michael and me.

They are?

It's amazing how you paralleled the upheaval in a fish tank to the turmoil

family life.

That's what I do.

And nobody does it better. Thanks, Dick.

I am good.

Maybe I'll, uh, write a book about my fish fables.

Ethel would have wanted it that way.

And, uh, Ethel and Maurice have lots and lots of kids.

Or snacks, as they turned out to be.

Gee gad, the cats.

It is a fishy fish world.

But what's the drift of this icky tale?

Well, in his morbid, long -winded way, Dick was trying to say that fish can be

good role models.

They ate their children.

I would never do such a thing to baby Steph. I mean, though on occasion I may

have said I'd like to eat her up, I would never eat her up.

Well, what's gotten into Dick? He's losing touch with reality.

I only know that I don't want you to go.

Sorry, Steph, but for our sullied seedlings' sake, this pop has got to be

rolling stone.

Gaga!

Did I just hear my micro -muffin call me Dada?

No, Michael, it was Gaga.

Oh.

Gaga!

Michael!

That time I think she did say Dada.

Really?

Yes, she's saying Dada!

She doesn't want you to go either.

A double family whammy. My mainspring and my offspring want me to stay.

See, she doesn't care about your stupid old blood.

Oh, Steph, you realize what this means?

I can paste my head back into the family photos.

Could Scooter and Libby be making fun of me? They seem to laugh at everything I

do. Well, they're probably, you know, laughing with you, George, not laughing

you. But I wasn't laughing.

What were you doing, George?

Well, I was putting up a no sparrows allowed sign in the new birdhouse, and a

dog came by chasing a cat and knocked over the ladder.

I tried to grab onto a branch, but there was a beehive attached to it.

Bees started stinging me, so I let go and fell into a bramble bush.

Well, you don't look any worse for wear.

Oh, yeah. Every inch of my body is covered with bloody welts and scratches.

want to see?

No. No, thank you.

I'm still trying to get over the image of your body after you were trampled by

that cow.

Libby called me a rube.

What is that exactly?

George, it's a derogatory term for a person from a small town.

Well, I may be a hick, and I've been called bumpkin.

And once or twice I came running when someone yelled, hey, yokel.

But it really galls me when a la -di -da snot nose labels George Utley a rube.

Parking home, boys.

We come bearing nifty news.

We've decided to stay together.

So, so my story worked.

Oh, being guppy, Dickers, you should be filleted for that fish favor.

It was baby Steph who talked us into reconciling. Your five -month -old spoke

you? Yes, she said, Dada, whatever you do, please don't go.

Ah, there you are, George.

George.

We were wondering if you'd care to motor down to the Hamptons for one of our

functions. You'd be the guest of honor.

It'll be loads of fun. We call it a roast.

No, thank you. Maybe when you come up again, I could invite you to one of our

functions. We call it a tar and feather.

Oh, Scooter, what a darling threesome they make.

Just like a little peasant family.

Michael may not be blue -blooded.

But we're together, and we're happy.

Hi.

I'm Larry. This is my brother Darryl, and this is my other brother Darryl.

Larry!

Scoots!

Lovely to see you again, dear Lawrence.

I believe the last time was at Leona's. I'm just wild about...

We dropped by to offer our congratulations on the arrival of your

see whether you require our expert child care services.

Thank you, Lawrence, but our little Tiffany is upstairs and very capable,

gnarled, Hans.

Well, then, we'll bid our adieus and return to our genetic experiments.

Daryl here is attempting to cross a porcupine with a pussycat.

Alack. The offspring tend to clean their sills to death.

Oh, Scooter, do say hello to your mom for us. Our floors ain't been the same

since she stopped scrubbing them.

Pardon?

Apparently, Scooter's humility prevented him from bragging about his mother's

proficiency as a scrub woman.

Your mother was a scrub woman?

Well, before she met my stepfather, we were a mite cash poor, so... That's

enough, Scooter.

No, it's not.

So, Scooter, I guess this means you're not a full -blood blueblood. Well,

actually, strictly speaking, I am.

I've never been so humiliated in my life!

Well, hopefully you'll have plenty of other chances.

Don't get so high and mighty with me, pet, lest we forget your grandfather

used pickup trucks in Scranton. They were not pickup trucks.

They were recreational vehicles.

Oh, this is so delicious.

I'm going upstairs to pack.

Come along, Bernie.

Oh, well, we're going to start using our real names, are we now, Shirley?

Keep a cot warm for me, dear chum. I may be bunking in for a while.

It appears I've just performed the function of deus ex machina in this

drama.

In Greek theater, the deus ex machina was raised and lowered on a rope while

chorus explained the offstage action.

Well, since our chorus is relatively silent and our rope is holding up

pants, we'll settle for an exit upstage center.

Oh, Michael, do you think we almost let Bernie and Shirley break up our happy

home? I'm reminded of the immortal words of Tony Tennille when she warbled,

Love, love will keep us together.

Come, my captain, let us celebrate with a bottle of Dick and Joanna's finest

champagne. Or maybe Dick and Joanna's finest tap water.

Baby Steph called me Dick.

I wonder what she wants.