Stanley: Mom! Dad?
Mother: Get in here before the neighbours see you.
Father: Jesus Christ! I can’t even recognize you.
Stanley: It’s me, only different.
Mother: So you have done it. It’s all over.
Stanley: I don’t think that’s any of your business.
(Mother grabs Staley’s crotch.)
Stanley: Mom!
Mother: Thank God, Murray. He’s still a boy.
(Stanley forces his mother to feel his breast.)
Mother: Oh, Stanley! I can’t look at you like this.
Father: Jeez! Why do you always upset her like that?
(Stanley laughs)
Stanley: I’ll tell you what. I’m just going to get something to eat and drink, and then I’ll go back and wait for Sydney outside.
Father: Are you sure you are alright, Stanley?
Stanley: Fabulous. I’ve never been better.
Father: Stanley...
Stanley: Bree..Sabrina Claire Osborne.
Father: Look, we’re going to need more time with that. Your mother and I both love you...
Mother: ...But we don’t respect you! I’ll never understand why you are doing this to me.
Sabrina: I’m not doing anything to you. I’m gender disphoric. It’s a genetic condition.
Mother: Don’t try to blame your father and me for this. You shouldn’t use so much mayonnaise. Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack. Let me do that. Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see a lost soul crying out for help. This never if you only to church when you little instead of going off to that synagogue of your father’s.
Sydney: Mom? Dad? There’s a sort of scruffy-looking kid outside.
Sydney: Holy shit!
Mother: Language, Sydney!
Sydney: I don’t fucking believe it. Stanley!.
Sabrina: Bree.
Sydney: Bree. Well, Bree. I that you up one of these days and take some of the heat off me.
Sabrina: It’s nice to see you, too.
Sydney: If that kid out there is your boyfriend, I’m going to slit my wrists.
Sabrina: I need to talk to you in private.
Sydney: Oh, my God! He is. You lucky son-of-a...I mean...you lucky bitch.
Mother: Your boyfriend? That filthy teenage juvenile delinquent who came to the door?
Sabrina: He happens to be a clean, healthy and respectable young man.
Mother: I don’t want to hear any more about it. How old is he?
Sabrina: Seventeen.
Mother: Oh, my God. Murray, he’s underage.