Cute.

ZANDY: So cute.

DONNA: Oh, you like the tea boxes?

I made them from this beautiful wood I found in

Buata Balone.

They're filled with my own special blend of hibiscus,

lavender, rosemary, sage, tarragon, thyme, hot dog,

cumin, basil, gasoline, cinnamon, mustard, juniper,

shiraz, parsley, sassafras.

ZANDY: Nice.

DAVID: That sounds--

DONNA: Anise, ankle weights, lemon balm, saffron, sorrel,

vanilla, tamarind, malted milk, dill, Coca Cola,

barnacles, chicory.

DAVID: Well, I mean, it's really super cute.

I think you should mass produce them,

you'd make a fortune.

DONNA: Oh, no, I don't want to get into

that kind of business.

Running this little shop is plenty for me.

Besides, I haven't had sex in longer

than I care to remember.

Once my ex left me, he was out the door jamming his jugs into

some slutty 22-year-old's blow hole.

DAVID: Yeah, I hear ya.

DONNA: It's just as well.

I love my little shop and the menagerie of colorful

characters that come through here.

ZEKE: Hey!

Hey, hey!

Hey, Miss Donna!

Miss Donna!

Fine day for chatterwauling and, and uh, and uh,

broomstick banging, isn't it?

Yeah!

DONNA: It's nice to see you, too, Zeke.

I made you a nice grape juice smoothie.

It's right here on this high shelf.

DAVID: Let me help you with that.

DONNA: No, no, I can get it.

Uh, oh, oh no!

Sorry!

DAVID: It's OK, I can get my sister to send me another

shirt from storage.

DONNA: I won't hear of it.

Please, come to my house.

DAVID: Oh, no, no, we don't want to--

DONNA: Come on, come on, come one, I can make you a cup of

my famous tea.

My house isn't much, but it's mine.

I'm not a rich woman, but my needs are simple.

As long as I have my kitchen and my garden, I'm happy.

But I'd trade it all right now for boobs that didn't drop

like the bond market every time I remove my brassiere.

You'll see when you get older, kids.

ZANDY: You really don't seem that much older than us.

DONNA: Oh, Zandy.

Hey!

Why don't you start the tea, and I'll get

David a clean shirt?

ZANDY: Oh, uh, OK.

DONNA: This is where my ex left all of his clothes.

I call it the closet of awful.

I know it's so crass to call it that, but you have to admit

it's a funny name.

Here, this should fit you.

I think you're about the same size as the asshole

who ruined my life.

Here, let's get this gunky shirt off of you.

Woo!

Uh, exactly how young are you?

DAVID: 40.

DONNA: Oh, God.

David, we can't do this, OK?

For a million reasons.

You're young enough to be my grandson, I'm a shop owner,

you're a wage slave, it's just wrong, wrong, wrong.

Oh, God!

Ah!

Oh, God!

Ah!

I can't believe it.

We should go down and get some tea.

DAVID: Can I get a milkshake?

DONNA: I practically invented the shit.

Come on!

ZANDY: Tea's ready.

DONNA: Uh uh uh.

Oh, it's funny.

I thought my libido had taken a one-way trip to dudsville.

But as it turns out, there was a return ticket and that date

was July 23rd.

No, don't check your iPad, that's today.

What do you even see in me, David?

How could you be attracted to this?

My body is covered in cobwebs, I smell like formaldehyde, and

my sex is so rusty it needs WD-40.

DAVID: DW-40.

DONNA: DW-40?

DAVID: I'm DW, and I'm 40.

DONNA: God, I keep forgetting you're such a baby.

You know, when I was your age, the big movie out was Star

Wars, Episode I, The Phantom Menace.

DAVID: Right, like 10 years ago.

DONNA: It's just so wildly unheard of,

what we're doing here.

WILSON: Donna!

Are you up there?

DONNA: Oh no, it's my ex.

I call him the jerk man.

DAVID: Shh!

DONNA: Don't tell him, OK?

Come on.

It's going to be so bad.

WILSON: Donna!

Who's the little kid?

Are you running a nursery camp?

DONNA: Oh, Wilson, you wouldn't know a nursery camp

if it hit you in the face.

WILSON: OK, OK, I'll take the jab.

But who is this guy?

DONNA: Uh, he came here to work on the Gulfstream 450.

DAVID: You have a private plane?

DONNA: Yeah, I know it's indulgent, but it's so great

to fly into the city for dinner and the opera--

everyone should do it.

WILSON: Donna, seeing you lying here with this gorgeous

boy, I'm remembering what an amazing woman you are.

You're ripe, like an old cheese--

pungent, bacteria-filled, and crumbly.

I'm tired of fresh Buffalo

Mozzarella, I want aged Stilton.

You're my Stilton.

FEMALE SPEAKER: You are on fire, Donna!

Your ex-husband and that bald-spot

boy-toy all in one day.

Ah, at this point I'd take any sex!

DONNA: Well, I feel like a school girl again, and I don't

care who knows it!

FEMALE SPEAKER: Oh, God!

Look at you!

DONNA: But I'm keeping the BenGay people in business.

FEMALE SPEAKER: You know, I think sex during

middle age is overrated.

I'd much prefer a shopping spree at Tiffany's and a

chocolate mousse.

FEMALE SPEAKER: Oh, yeah.

DONNA: I think I peed in my pants over that one.

Woo!

FEMALE SPEAKER: You did!

I saw it!

DONNA: Yes!

Oh, gosh.

Well, shall we get started?

DAVID: What is going on here?

FEMALE SPEAKER: We're going to eat you so we can stay young.

ZANDY: We're really not that much younger than you.

DONNA: We can just dip some chunks of them into

this hot olive oil.

I'm off the butter.

Gotta watch the hips if I'm going to keep screwing younger

guys all the time!