Niles, what are you doing? This fruit-nut muffin contains a number of things I don't care for.
Currants, a husk of something Away, wrinkly thing.
You know, if you and Maris ever reconcile, I'm going to miss these tranquil mornings.
I reading my newspaper, you tweezing your muffin.
- Hey, boys.
NILES: Hello, Dad.
Hey, I got a letter from my old Army pal, Bud Farrell.
The whole platoon's getting together next weekend in Rattlesnake Ridge.
FRASIER: Good for you.
Speaking of old chums, Daphne, a Clive called for you a little earlier.
Clive? Did he sound British? No, he was one of those fiery Mexican Clives.
- He said he'd call back.
DAPHNE: Yeah, I'll bet he will.
MARTIN: Oh, boy, I can't wait to see the old gang.
Dad, you're not thinking of driving all the way to Rattlesnake Ridge? It's five hours away.
Your hip stiffens up.
No problem.
They said I can bring a guest.
So who's the lucky one? Well, by my count, two of us get to be lucky.
Come on, they're great guys.
Stinky, Wolfman, Boom-Boom, Jim.
Of course, his name's not really Jim.
We call him that because he likes to drink Jim Beam.
Just like we call Hank "Bud" because he drinks Budweiser.
Come on, you'd love these guys.
We're sherry drinkers, Dad.
Think about it.
Anyway, I have a conference that weekend.
Yeah, and I have me friend Megan's birthday party.
Fras? [PHONE RINGING] Oh, please let that be Megan needing a clown for her party.
Hello? Oh, Clive.
Yes, it has been a long time, hasn't it? Oh, I am sorry.
I have dinner plans tonight.
Well, maybe just a drink, then.
Say 6:30? Me too.
Bye.
Oh, hell.
So who is this Clive? - An ex -boyfriend? DAPHNE: Worse.
Ex-fiancë.
You were engaged? For years.
Oh, we were mad for each other.
He was very sweet and had the most gorgeous eyes you ever saw.
- But? - Oh, yes, that too.
I just couldn't see a future with him.
I mean, the man was a total layabout.
No ambition, no drive.
He couldn't hold a job.
All he wanted to do was tinker about with his car.
His hands were always black from the motor oil.
What a brutish habit.
If God had intended me to work on my Mercedes, he wouldn't have given me Horst.
I had to break it off.
But I wanted to let him down easily, so I said if we were still free in five years, we could try again.
And here he is, right on schedule.
What do I say to him? Be honest.
Tell him how you feel.
What, to break the poor thing's heart again? In the long run, honesty's the best way to avoid unnecessary anguish.
Well, case in point.
Dad, I do not have plans for next weekend, but I do not intend to spend it in the middle of nowhere with Budweiser and Boilermaker and their liver-damaged friend, Seltzer.
Well, that's fine.
There will be other reunions.
There, you see? No evasions, no convenient conferences, just simple honesty.
Course, I don't suppose Jim'll make it next time.
Says here he just had his third bypass.
- But I guess I'll see him at his funeral.
- Off to work.
MARTIN: Unless I go first! All right! I'll drive you to your stupid reunion.
MARTIN: Thanks, son.
I guess I better wait a few days to tell him about Stinky needing a ride.
And in closing, this goes out to Keith, the narcoleptic I spoke to earlier.
I'd be glad to resume our conversation when you feel a bit more alert.
But in the meantime, I suggest that you reconsider applying for that air-traffic-control position.
This is Dr Frasier Crane, KACL 780 AM.
Brilliant show, Frasier.
Chock-full of pithy insight.
- What do you want? GIL: A favour.
Bonnie Weems, the Auto Lady, just asked me to another one of her wretched dinner parties.
I'm planning on saying that you and I have ballet tickets that night, - so do back me up.
- I'm sorry, I can't.
No, you've got to.
Have you any idea how vile her food is? The local raccoons have posted warning signs on her trash bin.
Yes, you see, she already invited me, and I told her I was driving my father to his Army reunion at Rattlesnake Ridge.
Oh, very clever.
Well, I'd use it myself, only I killed my father off to escape her Labor Day clambake.
Oh, Roz.
Listen, I'm going to the opera tomorrow night.
- You didn't happen to remember my? - Oh, your opera glasses.
I'm so sorry.
They completely slipped my mind.
I wouldn't mind if you hadn't borrowed them to ogle that bodybuilder across the street.
I've looked once or twice.
It's not like I copied his name off his mailbox so I could look up his number and call him while he's in the shower so I could watch him cross the room naked to answer the phone.
That would be wrong.
I want them back.
I refuse to squint through Pagliacci while you're trying to watch The Magic Flute.
[PLAYING PIANO] DAPHNE: Dr Crane, I need your opinion on this outfit.
I wanted something that sent no romantic signals whatsoever.
Well, short of a cactus corsage, I think you've captured it.
You know, Daphne, it's been five years.
That's an awfully long time to carry a torch.
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