♪ The Simpsons ♪

(Bart humming)

Whoops.

Whoops.

Whoops!

This is gonna be the best

birthday breakfast Mom every had.

Hey, Lis. You think that’s

enough for her?

-Maybe one more.

-(ding)

I hope she likes

the presents we got her.

Well, I know

she’ll like mine.

Who wouldn’t like a bottle

of real French perfume

all the way from gay Paree?

Four bucks, plus tax.

Well, I think she’s going to like

my handmade birthday card better.

Oh, big deal.

Dry macaroni, spray paint

and glue. Whoopie.

(whistles)

(whirring)

Dibs. First dibs.

I get to lick the beaters.

Ow! Ow! Ow!

Litha, my “ongue” is “uck”

in the “eaters.” My “ongue”!

(snoring)

BOTH:

Happy birthday!

(screams)

Huh? What?

-Here’s your birthday breakfast.

-Oh!

-(yawning)

-Well, isn’t this nice?

-My birthday?

-No!

It’s my birthday?

What did I get?

I love birthdays.

No, Homer, it’s mine.

You don’t even know

your own wife’s birthday?

Well, of course I know.

Sure.

You really thought

I forgot, didn’t you?

Oh, right.

What did you get her, Dad?

Yeah, what did you get?

Uh, well,

a very thoughtful gift.

But it’s a surprise.

(stretches)

You know, it’s such

a beautiful morning,

I think I’ll take a little stroll

around the block.

-(footsteps accelerate)

-(door opens, closes)

(car starts,

drives away)

-I think he forgot, Mom.

-Mm-hmm.

(tires screeching)

Oh, no. Come on.

Come on. Open up!

Good morning, consumers.

The Springfield Mall

is now open

for your spending needs.

Hmm? Uh… no.

(mumbling)

Too salty.

Um… nah.

Hmm? Nah, too corny.

(humming)

Too exciting.

Patty, he’s out buying me

something right now.

Oh, Marge. He never gets you

anything you want.

He always gets something

for himself.

The tackle box.

Remember when he got you

the tackle box?

And Connie Chung.

And when he surprised you

with the Connie Chung calendar?

I’m sure he doesn’t

do it deliberately.

Hmm. Hmm!

Well, Homer and I had

a lovely dining experience

at Chez Pierre.

Or the Rusty Barnacle

is nice.

PATTY: No, no, no.

We wanna take you

someplace fun–

The Singing Sirloin.

(groans)

The place where the waiters sing.

-Homer?

-Be right there.

(grunts, whistling)

Homer, we’re

having dinner tonight

at The Singing Sirloin.

That sounds delightful.

Just you and me

and the balladeers.

-And the kids.

-Fair enough.

-And my sisters.

-Doh!

♪♪ (harmonica,

waiters singing scales)

♪ How we danced on

the night we were wed ♪

♪ Havin’ my baby ♪

♪ What a lovely way to say

how much you love me ♪

♪ Nearer my God to thee ♪

♪ Nearer to thee ♪

Oh, perfume!

(sniffs) Whoa! Hmm.

Thank you, Bart.

-You’re welcome, Mom.

-34 years old.

Time enough to start over

with a new man.

-Someone who eats with his mouth shut.

-What’s that, Patty?

Nothing. Finish your steak.

-Look at him wolf down that gristle.

-Mm-hmm.

SELMA: It’s an accident

waiting to happen.

Do you know

the Heimlich Maneuver?

-No.

-Good.

I think she likes

my present better.

-Does not. Does not. Does not.

-Does too. Does too.

Then how come she’s not putting on

any of your perfume?

Yeah.

Hey, Mom.

How come you’re

not putting on any of my perfume?

Mm.

(clears throat)

Well, I’m saving it

for a special occasion.

What the hell are you talking about?

There’s gallons of it!

-Bart!

-But this occasion is already so special.

If we made it any more special,

we might end up

making it less special.

-Gotcha. Told ya she liked mine better.

-Oh, brother!

Hold on.

Hold on now.

Your mother hasn’t opened

my present yet.

♪ Happy birthday to you ♪

♪ Happy birthday to you ♪

♪ Happy 34th birthday,

Mrs. Homer Simpson ♪

♪ Happy birthday to you ♪

Oh. Don’t worry.

This frosting

will come right off.

Beauty, isn’t she?

It’s hard for me to judge

since I’ve never bowled

in my life!

Well, if you don’t want it,

I know someone who does.

(grunts)

HOMER: You always say

we should talk.

I’m talking right now,

as a matter of fact.

But I’m going to stop

in a second,

so please, say something back,

Marge, please?

I’m gonna stop talking…

now.

You bought that bowling ball

for you, not for me.

What? No.

The holes were drilled

for your fingers.

I wanted to surprise you.

I couldn’t very well

chop your hand off

and bring it to the store,

could I?

You never intended for me

to use that ball.

Well, if that’s how you feel,

I’ll take it back.

You can’t take it back.

You had your name engraved on it!

-So you’d know it’s from me!

-Homer,

I’m keeping the ball…

for myself!

What? But you don’t

know how to bowl. Oops.

I’m keeping it,

and I’m going to use it.

Thank you

for the present, Homer.

Well… you’re…

welcome.

(bowling pins clattering)

Excuse me.

Where do I throw this?

-Over there.

-Thank you.

-Wait a minute. You’re gonna need a lane.

-No, thanks.

-I’m here out of spite.

-Can’t bowl without a lane.

-Well, all right.

-Okay. Here you go.

You keep score on this.

-What size shoes you wear?

-Never you mind.

You can’t wear

street shoes on the lanes.

You gotta wear

bowling shoes.

What size, please?

-13 double “A.”

-13 double “A”?

(whistles)

This is the closest I’ve got.

A nine and a fifteen.

Thank you.

Hmm.

A little warm and moist.

Ugh!

Hmm.

Hmm.

(women cheering)

So, 120 pins later,

I am the better man.

I don’t see what he’s doing

that’s so different

from what I’m doing.

Hmm.

(grunts)

Oh!

I’m–

I’m awfully sorry.

Entirely my fault.

It is nice

to meet you,

Homer.

Oh, no, no.

Homer’s my… ball’s name.

-I’m Marge.

-(chuckles)

Your fingers are so slender,

so feminine.

They’re far too tapered

for the ball you’re using.

You need something lighter.

More delicate.

Here.

Use my ball.

No. No, thank you,

Mr., um, Brunswick.

-Call me Jacques.

-Jacques.

-Marge.

-I’ll just use my ball.

As you wish.

Many people have

senseless attachments

to heavy, clumsy things,

such as this Homer

of yours.

-Hmm.

-May I ask you a bold question?

-Sure.

-You’ve never bowled before.

-Never. No.

-No.

Then I will teach you.

I don’t wanna trouble you.

Not at all.

I am a professional.

Roll the ball for me, Marge.

Let me see your form.

All right.

But I’m not very good.

(grunts)

I can hit that one pin

all right,

but the rest of them

don’t even wobble.

I can help you, Marge.

Pick up the ball.

Pick up Homer.

Pick him up.

Oh!

-Now throw.

-But–

Throw, damn you.

(grunts)

You’re

a very good teacher.

Yes, I am a very good teacher,

and I can teach you everything.

I can tell you what the little arrows

on the wood floor mean,

which frame

is the beer frame.

I bet you don’t know how to make

a five-seven-ten split.

-Do you, Marge?

-No.

But first of all, you yell,

“The eight-pin is a cop.”

-(laughing)

-Let it out, Marge. Laugh loud.

Laugh out loud.

You’ll lose weight.

-Oh, that’s very funny.

-Feels good.

I didn’t realize there was

so much to this game.

What do you charge

for lessons?

-Twenty-five dollars.

-Twenty-five dollars!

It’s a $40 value.

Well, all right.

When do we start?

We have already begun.

Now this is living, eh, kids?

Hot pizza–

the food of kings.

Don’t be scared, Dad.

It’s not so hard

takin’ care of us.

(laughs)

Lisa, I’m not scared.

I think it’s a great chance

to spend some time with you kids.

Your mother always gets

to be alone with you,

and now it’s my turn.

Does the time

always drag like this?

First, you must get

to know your lane.

Feel the slickness.

Feel the satiny finish.

Caress it.

Experience it.

-Quite smooth, isn’t it, Marge?

-Ooh, very smooth.

-Smooth? Yes?

-Yes, very. Yes.

-Yes. Smooth? Yes.

-Smooth. Yes.

You could eat off of it.

You hungry?

-Yes.

-Four onion rings!

Mmm. Delicioso!

My compliments

to the delivery boy.

Okay. We’ve eaten

and eaten well.

What else do we have to do?

Let’s check the list

your mom left us.

Eat. Mm-hmm.

Oh, clean up.

Don’t worry, everybody.

This will be a breeze

if we all pitch in.

All right!

We’re clean!

Now we’ll…

put Maggie to bed.

♪ Lullaby

and good night ♪

♪ Go to bed

and sleep tight ♪

♪ Close your eyes,

start to yawn ♪

♪ Pleasant dreams

until the dawn ♪♪

(yawns)

(snoring)

-Homer. Homer?

-Huh? Huh?

Oh, how was bowling?

It’s a very

challenging hobby.

Sport, dear. It’s a sport,

you silly thing.

Mm-hmm.

But I think I’ll do

much better tomorrow night.

Oh?

You’re going back?

Well, sure.

If you don’t mind

taking care

of the kids again.

Uh, no.

I don’t mind.

Good night, Homer.

Good night.

-It is for you.

-Oh, Jacques, it fits.

You got it in my size,

and it has my name on it.

It’s really for me.

Seventeen-fifty.

Enjoy it, my darling.

Hmm!

(clattering)

(humming)

Here we are.

You didn’t have

to drop me off.

But I wanted to.

Marge, do you know

how beautiful you look

in the moonlight?

Oh, Jacques.

I’m a married woman.

I know. I know.

My mind says, “Stop,”

but my heart…

and my hips cry, “Proceed.”

(groaning)

Marge, darling,

I want to see you tomorrow.

Not at Barney’s Bowlarama.

Away from the thunderous

folly of clattering pins.

-Meet me tomorrow for brunch.

-What’s brunch?

You’d love it.

It’s not quite breakfast,

it’s not quite lunch,

but it comes with a slice

of cantaloupe at the end.

You don’t get completely

what you would at breakfast,

but you get a good meal.

-I don’t think so.

-Marge, darling…

there are ten pins

in my heart.

You’ve knocked over eight.

Won’t you please

pick up that spare?

Mm. Mm.

All right!

-Marge?

-What, Homer?

Nothing.

-(horn honks)

-BART: Uh-oh. School bus.

Here you go, kids.

Special lunches.

Lots of good things

for growing bodies,

and some treats

just for fun.

Ay, caramba!

Are you going bowling

again tonight, Mom?

Well, yes, I am,

as a matter of fact.

Here’s more treats.

But don’t worry,

your dad will take care of dinner.

Mmm, Wednesday.

Hoagie night.

Good-bye, Lisa.

My darling little Lisa.

Good-bye, Bart.

My special little guy.

Mmm!

Great lunches, eh, Lis?

Oh, Bart, don’t you see?

This is what psychologists

call overcompensation.

Mom is wracked with guilt

because her marriage

is failing.

Hey, don’t

rock the boat, man.

Whatever it is,

we’re making out like bandits.

Bart, I read about

what happens to kids

whose parents no longer love

and cherish each other.

They go through

eight separate stages.

Right now,

I’m in stage three, fear.

You’re in stage two,

denial.

-No, I’m not.

-Yes, you are.

-No, I’m not.

-Yes, you are.

-I’m not. I’m not. Am not!

-I stand corrected.

-Mimosa?

-I’m a married woman.

Please,

don’t call me that.

(laughs)

No, no, no, no, no.

Mimosa is the name

of the drink.

It’s orange juice

and champagne.

You’re so wonderful

that you thought it was

something offensive.

Oh, well, thank you.

WOMAN: Marge?

Marge Simpson.

You remember me,

don’t you?

I’m Helen Lovejoy,

the gossipy wife

of the minister.

Oh, yes.

Hello, Helen.

I had just finished eating

and was about to leave

when I looked over this way

and said to myself,

“Why, isn’t that

Marge Simpson over there

having brunch with a man

who isn’t her husband?”

And I just had to come over

and say hello.

-We’re, um–

-Oh, don’t squirm on my account.

I am giving her a bowling lesson,

thank you.

Now, Marge, the pins on

the three-seven-ten split would be here.

We’ll make this little piece

of food the ball.

The ball’s bigger.

You know that.

But for food,

this is a good ball.

Oh, well, bye-bye.

See you in church

on Sunday, Marge.

Good-bye, Helen.

Good-bye, Helen.

You have

a lovely friend there.

-(groans)

-Let’s hope something runs over her.

(laughs)

Your laughter

is like music to me.

But if you laugh at what I say next,

I will die,

for I am about to say

something very serious,

perhaps shocking.

Marge, my darling,

I want you to meet

with me again.

-That doesn’t shock me.

-Away from prying eyes,

away from the Helens

of the world,

at my apartment–

the Fiesta Terrace.

(gasps)

(doorbell rings)

I’ve been waiting for you.

Come in, my captivating one.

May I have this dance?

Sure.

♪♪ (Ballroom)

Whoa!

You certainly have a lot

of bowling trophies.

(laughs)

I like you so much.

They’re not for bowling, Marge.

You’re so naive.

They are for lovemaking.

-Really?

-Yes.

Oh!

-Champagne?

-Please.

There, my darling.

Thank you.

(glasses break)

What cosmic force

brought us together, Marge?

-Destiny?

-Yes.

Some divine pinspotter…

must have placed us

side by side.

Like two fragile

bowling pins–

Standing bravely–

-Until inevitably–

-We must topple.

Marge, speak to me.

-Is Thursday okay?

-It’s okay, indeed.

“For Marge”?

Hey, Dad.

What do you say we toss

the ol’ apple around, huh?

Sound like fun?

Son, I don’t know

if I can lift my head,

let alone a ball.

Aw, come on, Dad.

Get the lead out.

Simpson checks the runner on first.

He’s cool. He’s fine.

Here’s the windup,

and here’s the pitch.

Dad, you didn’t

even say “ouch.”

Oh, sorry.

Ouch.

Lisa. Lisa, I think

you’re right about Dad.

-Something’s very, very wrong here.

-Frightened, Bart?

Welcome to stage three: fear.

Well, come on.

We gotta do something, man.

Sorry, Bart.

I’d love to help you,

but I’m mired

in stage five, self-pity.

Look, Dad. I don’t know

what’s going on,

but once you gave me

some advice that might help.

I gave you advice?

Get out of here.

Yeah, you did.

You told me when

something’s bothering you,

and you’re too damn stupid

to know what to do,

just keep your fool mouth shut.

At least that way,

you won’t make things worse.

Hmm. Good advice.

Marge,

may I speak to you?

-Sure.

-You know, I’ve been thinking.

Everyone makes peanut butter

and jelly sandwiches,

but usually the jelly

drips out over the side,

and the guy’s

hands get all sticky.

But your jelly stays

right in the middle

where it’s supposed to.

I don’t know how you do it.

You just got a gift, I guess.

I’ve always thought so.

I just never mentioned it,

but it’s time you knew

how I feel.

I don’t believe in keeping

feelings bottled up.

Good-bye, my wife.

-(door opens, closes)

-Good-bye, Homer.

To the most beautiful

moment in life.

Better than the deed,

better than the memory–

the moment

of anticipation.

(humming)

Oh, Jacques, you handsome devil.

Look at you.

You’re really going

to strike out tonight!

-Ain’t you hungry, Homer?

-Starving.

Well, then why aren’t

you eating your sandwich?

How can I eat it?

She made it.

It’s all I have left.

Domestic situation.

♪♪ (“Wedding March”)

(tires squealing)

(tires squeal)

♪♪ (Theme from “An Officer

And A Gentleman”)

Uh, huh?

Marge!

What a lovely surprise.

You’re here to see me,

right?

Of course!

(co-workers clapping,

cheering)

Hey, way to go, Homer.

Way to go!

What will I tell

the boss?

Tell him I’m going

to the backseat of my car

with the woman I love,

and I won’t be back

for ten minutes.

(clapping, cheering)

♪♪

-(mumbling)

-Shh!