There's just something about those two that sends my hackles up and brings out the circa 1954 Suburban Parent in me. I swear to you, I'd get in my wood-paneled station wagon, drive to 'The City of Angels' (ha!), find that girl, drag her out by her ear kicking and screaming and throw her into an Irish pregnancy prison until she had the baby and it could be adopted by a nice infertile yuppie couple from Connecticut.
Maybe I'm cranky because I may have to brave the cold and wind because the only thing to eat here is
2. white bean spread
3. a Cadbury egg.
[Pause to ponder.]
No, it's them.