Marge: He's going to need, uh... you know, protection.
Guy: Sure... one helmet coming up.
Marge: I was thinking more of... protection... down there (points down).
Guy: Oh, why didn't you say so? Kneepads. You got it.
Marge: (very nervous laugh) I'm talking about his (muffling) personal area.
Guy: Ah ha. Say no more. I read you loud and clear. The old shoulderpads.
Marge: Look... I wanna cup.
Guy: Cup? Could you spell that?
Marge: C-U-P. I wanna C-U... oh my God!