Rose: Oh, good, you're home for the Festival of the Dancing Virgins. The sauce is almost ready.
Dorothy: I'm not staying for dinner tonight. There's a meeting at Mensa. That's the organization for people with high IQs like mine.
Rose: You know, in St. Olaf we had a chapter of Mensa, and across the room was Girlsa. No, wait, those were the bathrooms at St. Olaf's only Italian restaurant.

Sophia: What's with this guy? He must be blind as a bat.
Blanche: There are lots of ways you can trick a man into thinkin' you're younger than you really are. You wear sunglasses, put on a little extra makeup, go to dimly lit restaurants.
Rose: We've all done that.
Blanche: Fly to Nevada to get a fake birth certificate. Have a phony high school yearbook printed up. Change the dates on your parents' graves.
Dorothy: We've all done that.

Blanche: If I go back now and tell him the truth, he'll think I'm a liar.
Rose: Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to tell a fib.

Rose: We had a Festival of the Dancing Virgins in St. Olaf, too. Every year, we'd go down to the lake, and they'd be flopping around on the dock. Oh, no, wait. That was the Festival of the Dancing Sturgeons.
Dorothy: What is wrong with you, woman?

Blanche: It's so unfair. We're both about the same age, but he can go on makin' babies the rest of his life. I feel like the Spruce Goose. People may visit, play with the controls, but I'll never really fly again.

Sophia: Aw, leave her alone. We have to get to work on the sauce. We begin by taking a shallow bath in olive oil at 7:34 Sicily time.
Rose: Why?
Sophia: Originally it was to keep the Visigoths away. But if ain't broke, don't fix it.

Blanche: Am I convincing?
Dorothy: As what, ye olde towne slut?
Blanche: It so happens our community playhouse is doing The Taming of the Shrew, and I'm to audition for the role of Kate, the fiery tart of Padua who no man could tame. [doorbell rings] Hark. Perhaps a suitor doth approacheth. [exits]
Dorothy: Do you think he'll thtay all night?

Sophia: Dorothy, you're gonna have to do the Dance of the Virgins by yourself.
Dorothy: Ma!
Sophia: You remember. It's like the bunny hop, except you keep your legs crossed.
Dorothy: Ma, you're making this up.
Sophia: I'm adding to it.

Sophia: Pussycat, when you were in junior high school and the kids gave you a hard time, what did I say?
Dorothy: You told me I was extra-special and they were just jealous.
Sophia: That's right, and if they still gave you a hard time, what did I tell you to say?
Dorothy: "My mother can have you eliminated with one phone call."

Dorothy: Oh, morning, Ma.
Sophia: Dorothy, when was the last time you had sex?
Dorothy: It's a very personal question.
Sophia: That long, huh? Perfect. Then you shall be the queen of the Festival of the Dancing Virgins.
Dorothy: Ma, what are you talking about?
Sophia: Once a year, the women of my village threw a festival to recapture their virginity. It gives you a chance to say to the man in your life, "What kind of tramp do you take me for?"