Mrs. Connelly: Tell me about yourselves. What do you do Alan?
Alex Rose: Uh, it's Alex.
Nancy Kendricks: Alex is a writer.
Mrs. Connelly: Oh, a writer. I always thought of that as more of a hobby than a real job. I suppose I'm forgetting about Joyce.
Alex Rose: Joyce. James Joyce. Of course. Wonderful writer.
Mrs. Connelly: He died drunk and penniless.
Mrs. Connelly: I couldn't help noticing that Alex left the house this morning while you stayed home.
Nancy Kendricks: I was downsized from my job.
Mrs. Connelly: Oh, I'm sorry, but I'm sure it's for the best. Let Mr. Rose get out there and bring home the bacon. I always thought it was strange your husband staying home while you were out there providing.
Nancy Kendricks: Well, he's a writer.
Mrs. Connelly: Writer? The man naps more than a newborn pup. What's he writing about? Sheep?
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