Dorene Hooper: Where's my boy?! What have you done with my poor, delicate boy?!
[A sweaty Dabney walks out wearing a bandana across his head and a bandolier of paint pellets across his chest while holding his paintball gun]
Dorene Hooper: Oh, my God! [to Malcolm] This is your fault, you evil little Svengali! I knew I shouldn't let Dabney have any friends! Now, Dabney, where-
Dabney: Get the car. We're going home.
Dorene Hooper: Dabney, you've never spoken to me like this before.
Dabney: Well, get used to it. I'm not your little boy anymore, Mom. [puts glasses on] I'm your little man.
Dorene Hooper: Oh, my. Oh. Oh, Dabney. Oh!