Daphne: Good morning, Dr. Crane.
Frasier: There you are. [holding up a dark sock] What is the meaning of this? Where is his mate?
Daphne: I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about.
Frasier: My favorite pair of socks reduced to a single argyle. Nor is this the only example. The keen observer yesterday would have noticed that I left the apartment wearing two shades of black! Explanation, please!
Daphne: I'm sorry, Dr. Crane. I'm forced to do the laundry downstairs, and I guess your socks are just too tempting to the neighbors. Of course, you're welcome to go down there yourself and stand guard.
Frasier: I see. If we had our own washer-dryer, there would be no more lost socks. I will not be strong-armed by threats against my laundry!
Daphne: Suit yourself. I'm off to do a load of your pinks.
Frasier: I don't have any pinks.
Daphne: You will.

Cam: Hello, Crane. Glad you could make it... I guess.
Frasier: Spare me your honey-glazed pleasantries, Cam. I am here to roll up my sleeves and end our feud.
Cam: As am I. That's why I called you.
Frasier: Just for the record, it was my idea to apologize first.
Cam: Well, that seems appropriate, since you're the one who shut off the water and ruined my clothes.
Frasier: That, sir, is a fraction of the story. Since you moved into this building, you have encroached upon my parking space, you have undermined my position with the condo board, and you killed a magnificent Virginia Creeper.
Cam: Which you gleefully encouraged to climb the balcony and choke my dangling ivy.
Frasier: I thought it was marijuana!
Cam: Dangling ivy looks nothing like marijuana!
Frasier: Well, I'm sure I wouldn't know.

Daphne: I've done some calculating, and in the last nine years, I've carried 2.8 tons of laundry approximately 106.4 miles back and forth to the basement. That's the same as carrying an SUV on me back to Canada.
Martin: Maybe we should ask him to buy a washer-dryer.
Daphne: Oh, there's an idea. I was going to suggest moving the apartment closer to the laundry room.