I want to marry you. I want to have kids with you. I want to build us a house. I want to settle down and grow old with you. I want to die when I'm 110 years old, in your arms. I don't want 48 uninterrupted hours. I want a lifetime. Mmm. Do you see what happens? I say things like that and you fight the urge to run in the opposite direction. It's okay, I understand. I didn't, but now I do, I do. You're just getting started and I've been doing this for a long time now. Deep down, you're still an intern, and you're not ready.
Everyday is my mothers birthday. My mother was born in March. He lied. He's a liar. And I'm glad. Really, I'm glad that you found him charming. I'm sure he was delightful. He's a blast after five drinks, not so much after nine though; he gets a little weepy and mean. He's a drunk, Meredith. He probably came in and told you how wonderful you are. How sad he is he doesn't get to spend more time with you. You know, yesterday he told me I was his favorite daughter. The day before, I was an ungrateful bitch. The week before, he wrote me a check for $20,000 because he said I deserved everything life had to offer, because he was so proud of me, a lifetime's worth of proud. So thank you for letting me know that I need to keep a better eye on him. Thanks.