Ida: In our country, after a boy turns 16, he becomes a barochi. We watch this boy for one year. Then, when he is ready, he is plucked from his mother's teat and thrown into the town square, where he must battle with the other boys for dominance.
Malcolm: Wait, up until this point, they're still breast feeding?
Ida: It keeps families close. The boys fight each other with all their might. When it is over, the one left standing is the man. The rest are dronska. Then more breasts are offered to the proud young man. But these are not the withered spigots of the mother, no. These are the ripe, inviting pleasure domes of the virgins of the village, presented dripping with wine.
Reese: Our family comes from the coolest country in the world.
Ida: And it must continue, Reese. You must carry on with this ritual.
Malcolm: Grandma, this is not only moronic, it's impossible. For one thing, there is no village full of boys for Reese to fight.
Ida: No, we will have to make do. The closest thing we have to a boy is you.
Malcolm: What?
Ida: You shall be the rock on which his knife is sharpened. There will be contests of strength and endurance. When he defeats you, he shall be a man.
Malcolm: What if I defeat him? [Reese and Ida laugh]