Sophia: Picture it: Sicily, 1852.
Dorothy: Ma, I am in no mood. And besides, you weren't alive in 1852.
Sophia: What? We can't learn from history? It was mid-century and a disillusioned Italy looked to the house of Savoy for leadership. Giuseppe Garibaldi, our courageous leader, and not a bad dresser, thought, "Let's regain some national pride and jump into this Crimean War thing." Of course, there was a big kickoff party at Giuseppe's beach house, and everyone came. Coincidentally, this was also the night his wife Rosa hit her sexual peak.
Dorothy: Ma, I am in here because of guilt.
Sophia: This is not a story about guilt. This is a story about being a bad hostess. While Rosa had Giuseppe in the bedroom with his saber around his ankles, were strip-searching mice for a piece of cheese.
Dorothy: Ma, so what's your point? That Rosa and I throw bad parties?
Sophia: That's my minor point. My major point is that, like Rosa, you're screwing around in the bedroom when there are important things to do outside.
Dorothy: I can't believe it. That makes sense. I mean, you went the long way around but that actually makes sense.