Kate: Sweet...did you get them all?
Hey, Target. Notice the HUGE free advertising? You're Welcome.
Lydia: I think so. I also got a couple of other things - because it's a Target and I can't walk out of that damn place without spending $100 which is why the Cap'n banned me in the first place. Sigh. Do you think he'll get mad because I bought scented candles, Altoids, pina colada dog shampoo and a bra? Why does he insist that these things are not important? He just doesn't get it.
Kate: They never do. But can we get back to planning, please?
Lydia: Yup yup yuppers! What food are we having?
Kate: I bought some stuff and I'm making some stuff...
Kate: oh, haha. Suck it Clogs. I can cook.
Lydia: You can heat up. Huge difference.
Kate: Says the person who drowns everything in Ranch dressing and hot sauce.
Lydia: Which you LOVE...
Kate: I'm totally buying you a vat of Ranch dressing for your birthday.
Lydia: ohmygod Kate I'm gonna put it in the bathtub and like, use it for conditioner and bathing the kids and bringing carrots in to dip. [pause] That's gross, right?
Lydia: Shut up. You add a little Texas Pete's and it's AWESOME SAUCE. We could make a fortune and a win the Nobel Prize for Awesomeness and the James Beard Award for Being Kick Ass because we invented AWESOME SAUCE. Remember that...
Kate: I think I'm never eating at your house again. OK, so it's you, me, Ellen, Emma, Jane...Meg...who else?
Lydia: Rebekah. She totally thinks we're stalker slayers...
Lydia: For that reason, you have to stop me after three.
Kate: Three t-boxes? Done.
Lydia: Thank you...because the last time I got drunk at a party I told the Five Guys story and then I sang "We Are the World" while swaying with my eyes closed. I really need a designated driver...the Cap'n is not going to pile the monsters in the car at midnight to come pick up my inebriated self. Or Ellen... this could be bad. You know that right?
Kate: Yeah. By the end we'll be all "the red one is...good...and spilling. We're sucking it out of the carpet."
Lydia: I'm gonna beg Ellen to drive AND beg her to keep us from writing nothing but F bombs when we get sloshed. [prolonged silence] This was your idea.