Roger: What's wrong, sweetie?

Phoebe: Nothing, nothing.

Roger: Aaaah, what's wrong, c'mon. (Pats his leg. She lies down and rests her head in his lap)

Phoebe: It's, I mean, it's nothing, I'm fine. It's just...it's my friends. They-they have a liking problem with you. In that, um, they don't.

Roger: Oh. They don't.

Phoebe: But, y'know, they don't see all the wonderfulness that I see. Y'know they don't see all the good stuff and all the sweet stuff. They just think you're a little...

Roger: What?

Phoebe: Intense and creepy.