George: Hey Gorgeous. Having a good time?
Jules: Not particularly, but I did what I came to do.
George: What, you split them up?
Jules: No, I said 'goodbye.'
George: Good girl. I'm proud of you. I'd be prouder still if you were dancing.
Jules: Oh, I have big plans for dancing. Just give me thirty, thirty- five years.
George: Oh, the misery, the exquisite tragedy...the Susan Hayward of it all. [laughs] I can just picture you sitting there alone at your table in your lavender gown...
Jules: Did I tell you my gown was lavender?
George: Hair swept up, haven't touched your cake. Probably drumming your fingernails on the white linen table cloth, the way you do when you're really feeling down. I see you looking at those nails thinking, 'God, I should have stopped in all my evil plotting to have that manicure!' But it's too late now.
Jules: George, I didn't tell you my gown was lavender.
George: Suddenly, a familiar song. Then, you're off your chair in one exquisite movement. Wondering, searching, sniffing the wind like a daffelled deer. Has God heard your little prayer? Will Cinderella dance again? And then, suddenly, the crowds part. And there he is. Sleek. Stylish. Radiant with charisma. It's only, he's on the telephone. But then, so are you. And he comes towards you, the moves of a jungle cat. And although you quite correctly sense that he is gay, like most devastatingly handsome single men of his age are, you think, 'What the hell? Life goes on.' Maybe there won't be marriage. Maybe there won't be sex. But by God, there will be dancing!
[My Best Friend's Wedding]
