A young woman with dark hair and an older gentleman ascend the stairs onto the plane. When Amy sees them enter the cabin, she stands up and starts screaming. Oh, good grief. I understand excited, but that kind of screaming is for seven-year-olds. Stupid seven-year-olds. The smart ones are way too sophisticated for it. As it turns out, this woman jumping up and down with Amy is Amy's sister. And just behind her is Nick's dad. Ah, the family reward. Nick shakes Amy's sister's hand, and Amy hugs Nick's dad. As they settle in, Nick laughs while trying to explain to his dad that they're flying down to Florida for lunch. It does sound a bit goofy when you hear yourself say it, I suppose. The jet takes off.
During the flight, Nick's dad asks whether Nick and Amy are "sweethearts," and comments that Amy "can't take her eyes off of [Nick]." Amy says that Nick's dad is proud of him, but also likes to give him a hard time. Oh, good. We do that in my family, too. On the plane, Nick's dad asks whether this relationship is going to be serious. "That's what I just told him," Amy bubbles, "I said I get to meet my father-in-law early." Uch, that's what I just hate. From everything I've seen, it is Amy who constantly brings up this romantic connection idea, and that's fine, and more power to her, but it's extremely irritating for her to then talk about it as if Nick is in pursuit of her and she's just weighing her options. If she really thinks he digs her and she's not interested, then she should shut up. If she's interested, she should grow a pair and quit fluttering her eyelashes. Either way, she should shut up.
In an interview, Nick's dad tells us that Amy is "very charming," and that her sister is, too. Oh, and this is where we learn that Nick's dad's name is Moose. Yep. Moose Warnock, of Bayonne, New Jersey. God bless America. Anyway, Moose says that Nick doesn't actually have the greatest history with women. Amy's sister comments on the flight that Nick and Amy "look cute together." Amy laughs, and then her sister asks Nick if he's single. He hesitates far too much for the answer to be an unqualified "yes." "He's been through a number of women," Moose says simply. "No, no, I'm one hundred percent single," Nick insists. Amy's face looks like she just watched her pet bird get eaten by a tiger. Nothing takes the wind out of a girl's sails like finding out that the guy she's cast in a play entitled The Boy Who Really, Really, Really Likes Me has six girlfriends waiting at home in case it doesn't work out. To Nick's claim of singlehood, Moose says, "What about the one out on the west coast?" Nick acts like he has no idea what Moose is talking about, which he obviously does. Amy looks miserable some more. I feel really bad for her, ha ha ha ha. ["Dear Moose: I love you. Call me." -- Sars]
The jet lands. Amy talks about how they got "yet another limousine" to take them to Mar-a-Lago. Mar-a-Lago is basically a very pretty place that looks exactly like Florida concentrate. They meet the managing director of the estate, who has an accent I find very amusing, even though I realize finding anyone's accent amusing is probably wrong. "On behalf of Mist-a Doe-nald Trrrrump, I velcome you to Mar-a-Lago," he says. The "historian" of the club comes to give them the grand tour, and Amy voices over how exciting it was to see all the fancy stuff and the antiques and the blah blah blah rich people stuff. Amy quotes a lot of prices, because like most of these people, she knows the price of everything and the value of nothing, as they say. "It's not like home," she says. "There's no La-Z-Boy." And then, right on cue, they cut to a hilarious painting of Trump. No, really. I will never do justice to this painting. It looks like Trump mated with Fabio and John F. Kennedy and the state of Hawaii all in one riotous weekend, and this was the offspring of the encounter. Basically, it presents Trump in front of a fiery sunset, wearing a white sweater, looking thinner, tanner, and younger than he has ever looked. There are even Clouds of Portent behind him, because you never know when something significant might happen just when you're enjoying a day out in your tennis whites.