Truly: "Your business model sucks! [Or whatever, it doesn't ever matter.]"
Terry: "We've been in business for X number of years!"
Michelle: "Saw your grandpa on the truck. Nice lookin' man."
Terry, verbatim: "That's my grandmother. Women looked different back then."
Well done, well written and well performed. Anyway. Truly points out that the carpets need to be dried or else they will mildew forever -- which every human being would know -- and that Michelle needs to dry that shit out immediately -- which is another thing any human being would know -- so Michelle grabs one tiny blowdryer from the girls' vanity and starts blowdrying the floor -- like no human being ever, in the history of the... Fuck it. Whatever.
Bunheads: "You are pathetic!"
Michelle: "That would still be a better title for this show!"
Bunheads: "Can we help? Except for Sasha, because fuck you is what she thinks about that."
Brother Charlie and Melanie scream at each other forever and ever, and Boo swoons for Charlie, and -- once she gets worried that her crush won't be their chauffeur anymore -- Melanie explains that she found a joint in his room.
Melanie: "So he's gonna be drivin' Miss Daisy for a loooong time."
Boo: Blank stare, because at random intervals Boo is the dumb one, not Melanie.
Melanie: "I'm Miss Daisy in that reference, as anyone would understand who speaks English."
Boo: "Got it. Because it wasn't even really a joke or a metaphor or a double-entendre. You were just saying that he was going to drive us around, like before, using a tossed-off reference to a common thing where a person drives a person around."
Maybe it's not mildew at all, maybe it's black mold. That stuff made my mom real stupid and mean until they figured it out, but now she's awesome to be around. Hmm, Paradise. Hmm, Michelle. Anyway, Michelle takes the Bunheads out for dinner. Where? They Oyster Bar, of course, because there's just one restaurant in Paradise. Why? Because she and the four Bunheads have been kneeling -- we're meant to accept as fact, not hyperbole you understand -- for three hours, blow-drying the entire dressing room. I mean, Truly actually mentioned industrial fans while explaining this basic shit to Michelle, she said, "You need fans." And Michelle ignored her and said to herself, "Blabbity blee-blee-bloo," like she always does, and now these girls -- these little privileged white girls who already don't even pay for dance lessons or shoes or leotards or costumes or anything -- are getting some free seafood dinners. At the Oyster Bar. Because who needs fans.