Bradley: "Anyway, it was fun almost getting shot by a hot werewolf with you. I won't bug you anymore..."
Dylan: "Uh, feel free to bug me. My only friend is my mom and this dead guy that used to cry at strip clubs. I feel like we've got a lot in common, you and I. And not in the Miss Watson way."
Norma, proving Dylan's point about her well-regulated militia, is checking out the barrel of the gun -- as in, staring down into the gun like an insane person would do -- when Norman appears, already in sort of Dexter's Laboratory/Owen Meany freakout at this point. It's adorable because it's Norman, but also very scary because it's Norman: It's unacceptable to think about him being in pain.
When he screams, she takes that gun she was just pointing at her face and crams it under her mattress, so it looks like a particularly ungainly and ill-advised porn, like Octomom.
Norman: "MOTHER! I NEED BLACK SOCKS!"
Norma: "Did you look in the sock drawer?"
Norman: "I'M NOT RETARDED MOTHER! MOTHERRRR!"
Norma: "Okay so what do I do about that?"
Norman: "MOTHER! MOTHERRRR!"
Norma: "I don't know where your stupid black socks are! It's not my fault you decided to go to a dance at the last minute! What am I supposed to do, darn some socks?"
Dylan: "Here are some socks. Love you."
Norman: "UGH DYLAN YOU ARE THE WORST. STOP."
Dylan: "Honey, look at me. I was helping Bradley because her dad died. Okay?"
Norman: "JUST GO AHEAD AND FUCK HER DYLAN. I'M OVER IT."
Dylan: "...Are you sure?"
Norman: "IF I WAS GOING TO KILL HER -- OR YOU -- DON'T YOU THINK I WOULD HAVE DONE IT BY NOW?"
Dylan: "I mean, I just wanna confirm..."
"Yeah, all conversations are stupid. Just Blah blah blah like rats trying to find our way out through a maze, like it has some purpose or meaning, but it doesn't."
Dylan: "Kind of feel like you're being creepy on purpose."
Norman: "I will always be creepy about Bradley, but fuck me anyways. Ask her out, shit. I may kill somebody later but don't worry about it. She clearly has a crush on you because you are old and hot and competent and don't smell like formaldehyde, so what."
Somehow watching Norman Bates put on some black socks is like, literally the most moving thing that has ever happened. It took me ten episodes to realize that his physical acting reminds me very much of what we'll provisionally call the love of my life -- an age-appropriate but "gangly"-defining fellow, by any measure -- and that possibly my endearment toward him has been taking place partially on a level I did not know about until this week, but in another way that just confirms it: It's hard enough watching Norman struggle with just being-people activities, I can't be watching him put on socks.