Blanche: I know what I'm talking about because I was in a very similar situation once. He was a man of the cloth. Totally dedicated to his vocation or so he said, but his eyes told me he was dedicated to me. We both knew it was wrong and we fought our feelings with every bone in our hot, longing, writhing bodies. Finally, it was just too much for us and we gave up and checked into a Best Western.
Dorothy: You had an affair with a priest?
Blanche: Priest? I didn't say he was a priest. I said he was "a man of the cloth". He was a fabric salesman. You know, we never made love again after that, but he did cover my La-Z-Boy for free.

Dorothy: I don't think I can do it.
Blanche: Oh, Dorothy, of course you can. Look here, now you be Frank. I'll be you. OK? Why, Frank, you know I've been thinking, this is the third Saturday of our relationship and I don't even know what you like to eat. Why don't you come over for dinner this Saturday night and let me find out what whets your appetite.
Dorothy: And what are you serving for dessert, Blanche, penicillin?

Frank: Good evening.
Blanche: ... ... Good evening, Father. My, my, this must be an important cause. Don't you usually make the nuns ask for money? I'll get my purse.
Frank: I'm Frank. I'm here to see Dorothy.
Blanche: ... You're the hunk? I mean Forgive me, Father. That is, forgive my language, not in your official capacity. I'm not even a Catholic. I'm a Baptist and you can't forgive us Baptists. Sweet Jesus, why am I babbling? I meant that in all due reverence. I never take the Lord's name in vain. Oh, God, now I'm lying to a priest.