Stan: It wasn't my first mistake.
Dorothy: What?
Stan: Remember the Chain-Linked Fence Retailers' Convention in Atlantic City in 1957?
Dorothy: Oh, my God. You had an affair at the convention.
Stan: No, there was no convention. I just had an affair.
Dorothy: Oh, Stanley.
Stan: She didn't mean a thing to me. She was a waitress in a little Greek diner on the way to work. Every morning I'd come in, she'd put some rolls on the table and say, "Can I butter your buns, Stan?" One morning she said it and there were no rolls on the table. Next thing I knew, we were in Atlantic City. Dorothy, I swear to you, it was just that one time. Forgive me.
Dorothy: Forgive you? Forgive you? I'm sitting at home with two screaming kids praying that you'll sell enough chain-link to put food on the table, and you're off planting your flag on Mount Olympus.
Stan: Dorothy, you make it sound so cheap. Please tell me you understand. I need to know you forgive me before I let them cut me open my heart.
Dorothy: They may have to stand in line.
Stan: Dorothy, please.
Dorothy: Alright, alright. You're off the hook, Stanley. Go to the hospital with a clean conscience. I forgive you.