Time: five p.m. on New Year’s Eve. Place: the living room of a rural farmhouse in Connecticut.
HE Do I really have to wrap all these presents? You know I can’t wrap presents.
SHE You can’t cook, either.
HE But they look awful. Everybody’s going to laugh when they see them–they’ll know I wrapped them. Couldn’t we just put them in grocery bags or something? I used to do that when I was a kid.
SHE (very patiently) Do the best you can. It’s the thought that counts.
HE I guess it’s sort of the Marxist approach to wrapping presents.
SHE Huh?
HE From each according to his ability, to each according to his means.
SHE That’s the most pretentious thing you’ve said all year. Just shut up and wrap, O.K.?