Pregúntale a tu piel si ella te dejará escapar. Mientras tanto, recuerda dónde besaste y qué zapatos llevabas.
Martha: Well, aren't you going to apologize? George: Wasn't my fault — the road should've been straight. Martha: Not that! For making her throw up. George: I did not make her throw up. Martha: You most certainly did. George: I did not. Honey: [still drunk] No, now, no… Martha: Well, who do you think did? Sexy, back there? You think he made his own wife sick? George: Well, you make me sick. Martha: That's different.(Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?)