Cynthia: Is my coffee ready yet? I can't believe you only have instant.
Malcolm: I'm sorry our [French accent] "Folgers" is not up to your standards. Maybe I'd be a little more impressed with your coffee sophistication if you weren't wearing a kiddies' sweater.
Cynthia: I'm supposed to take style tips from someone who keeps track of wrestling feuds?
Malcolm: You know, ever since you've been back you've been mean to everyone. I know you think you're better than us. Even if that's true, it doesn't mean you have the right to be nasty. If you keep this up, you won't have any friends.
Cynthia: You think you know what everybody's problem is? Well, guess what, you don't. You think you're so smart and together, and that no-one notices what an unhappy little person you are. Well, I'm sorry. I'm not going to stroke your fragile ego by confiding in you.
Malcolm: Oh, yeah? Well, you're on fire!
[As Cynthia screams, Malcolm jumps up and grabs her sweater and stomps the fire out. When he looks back up, he sees Cynthia in her t-shirt.]
Malcolm: [to camera] Mommy!