Edna: Margie, ever since you got home from that spa you've been more demanding than usual. I swan, if I hear you complain about your fancy-schmancy new diet one more time, I'm going to stick my head in the oven.
Margie: Edna, you know your poor sister was in the hospital. You can't stand it when I get a little attention.
Glory be! Turn on the oven and let it preheat while I tell you about my new diet.
Edna: The hospital! You lying liar, that's not what you told me when you left last Monday. You said that you were going to a nice spa and I should eat my heart out. That's just like you, spinning a tale on me. You should be ashamed of yourself.
Maybe our readers want to hear about your diet but I've heard enough in the last few days to write my own cookbook. But go ahead and squawk about it if you feel the need.
Margie: I didn't want you to come visit me so I said I was at a spa. I'll talk about my diet later but I'm telling you, Edna, hospitals have changed. I thought I was at death's door until they started sending me those male nurses. There were no male nurses back in the day.
There is nothing like a man in white who leans over me to give me a pill. Edna, I think you should call the Dr. I feel like I need a few more days in the hospital.
Edna: Well, trust you to floozy up something so serious as a hospital stay! You know, though, it occurs to me that it might be a good idea to send the Margiedales to nursing school. It could be handy to have some health care professionals around here.
Why wouldn't you want me to come visit you? I could have brought you magazines and kept you company. I bet you just wanted to keep those male nurses all to yourself, you hussy.
Margie: You know me too well, sister.
