Norma: "...Sure, let me get my coat."
Norman: "Professor Quirrell, this is my mother, her name is Mother."
Will: "You can call me Will."
Norma: "Nice to meet you! Can I talk to you for a second like I'm not freaking out?"
Norman heads back through a curtain, and you can see his little feet twirling around a desk chair, and it is the sweetest thing in the whole world.
Norma: "You know this is crazy fucked up, right?"
Will: "The Dark Arts have their naysayers..."
Norma: "I mean, they're on my jock about him being normal, and this is the opposite of that. This is the definition of being a fucking freak."
Norma: "I mean, you're great. You're aging into a great beauty, somehow. And I'm sure you aren't freaky, I mean, so what you're a taxidermist and your daughter's dying..."
Will: "Side note, I got back into taxidermy once her mom split, so that's actually kind of a thing. Our whole house is about death, which is funny because we are 100 percent cooler and less freaky than your whole deal."
Norma: "Well, okay, maybe your pride will work. You know, this is a hard business. Not everybody can be as good at it as you are. I always saw Norman as more of a ladies' shoe salesman, or if he goes really nuts, an OB/GYN."
Will: "Not many people write poetry, but we still have to have poets, right?"
Norma: "Do we, though?"
(Actually that was a cheap shot: In my personal experience, any gyno born after around 1965-70 is a delight. I mean, I'm not exactly reporting from ground zero on this one, but I have met a lot of doctors in my lifetime and I have been charmed enough by your younger dude ones -- and of course the lady ones -- that my first thought is still that they seem great. Maybe they have to be, so you won't run screaming. All I know is, I don't meet enough of them, due to not having a compelling reason to do so.)
Will: "In fact he is good at it. And he's good company. And we're not hurting anybody, the animals are already dead, there's not much else you can do to them. If this is his passion... What can go wrong with encouraging that?"
Future Ghost Norma: "Spoiler alert!"
Whatever you're imagining about a group of young people whose seasonal employment involves trimming huge pot harvests, you are correct. One hottie's got cool orange pants and a high-and-tight -- looks like one of those candyflipper Euro guys you meet in hostels who are like a DJ as their whole entire thing and you're like, "But how?" -- but the rest of them it's just patchouli and dreads and one million offensive Burning Man details.