Ray: That's really-
Debra: Really kind of sweet.
Ray: Sweet? What, that? They're not talking.
Debra: Well, it's like they don't have to.
Ray: I don't think it's 'cause they don't have to. I think it's 'cause they don't want to.
Debra: I don't know. They seemed so in tune.
[Ray and Debra return to the living room to observe Frank and Marie through the serving window. The pair are eating their sandwiches in silence, staring off in different directions]
Ray: I see cows.

Debra: You know what? We have nothing to say to each other. All we do is talk about the kids, or tell stories we've heard over and over and over.
Ray: What stories?
Debra: Robert swallowing that damn bee. I've heard that stupid story a million times, every time you see honey or a bee or a person with a puffy face.
Ray: Yeah, that's a million.
Debra: Or how about the time your dad put a possum in your tent during a camping trip and you literally jumped out of your skin?
Ray: What? It was scary.
Debra: Yeah, that's not literally. You literally jump out of your skin, you're dead. Body out of skin, dead.
Ray: How about you? You're always telling me about the story where you wore purple shoes and your feet sweated, and they turned purple. "It was like I was making wine." That's not funny.
Debra: I know. See? We have nothing to talk about and you don't even care.

Ray: And now my favorite part of Valentine's Day.
Debra: What?
Ray: The march of the red, silk boxers.
Debra: Are you kidding me?
Ray: You're right. Skip the dancing.
Debra: Wait a minute. We don't talk to each other all night now you just wanna have sex?
Ray: Not just. Hey, come on. We talked.
Debra: Oh, yeah, yeah. "This butter is the perfect temperature-slash-density."
Ray: Was I wrong?