Mike: Hello? I am armed… with a-with a big gun. Oh, God.

Edith: At least do it with a little authority /ɔ:'θɔriti/. Someone’s gonna think I raised a pussy.

Mike: Oh, you scared the crap out of me. How did you get here?

Edith: I live in a nursing home, not a prison. They have a shuttle /'ʃʌtl/ service and a very muscular /'mʌskjʊlə/ driver named Donald.

Mike: Grammy, I’m making a lot of money right now. I could have sent a car for you.

Edith: Then I wouldn’t have gotten to see a very muscular driver named Donald.

Mike: Why didn’t you call? I could have been here. Oh, my god, our dinner. I have been working so hard, I forgot what day it is. That used to happen to Dad.

Edith: That’s what happens when you care about your job. And don’t give a rat’s ass about your grandmother.

Mike: Well, yeah, that is why I put you in the home.