Marrying George Clooney

A: Please drive slower, hon
K: I am driving slower, babe.
A: Slower than what, moo-moo?
K: Slower than the last time you asked me, sweetie.
A: okay. (accompanied by a deep, loud, obnoxious sigh), thanks.
K: Uh huh.
(Silence for about ten minutes… then)
A: Please drive slower, Ken,
K: I am driving slower, Amy.
A: Slower. Than. What?
K: Than. The. Last. Time. You. Asked. Me.
A: I DOUBT THAT.
(silence again for another ten minutes or so)
A: SLOW DOWN
K: Fuck you.
A: NO, NO, NO, NO….FUCK YOU, KEN…FUCK YOU!!!!!
K: OKAY. THAT’S IT. GET OUTTA THE CAR. I’M PULLING OVER AND I WANT YOU OUTTA THE FUCKING CAR. I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT.
A: Yeah. Right. ASSHOLE.
K; (mimicking me) Yeah. Right. (Ken does not say the word asshole because he finds it nasty and crude, and since he is a much better person than me, he refrains from tossing it back.)
(a beat…a long long beat)
A: Please. Drive. Slower.
K: You drive.
A: I don’t wanna drive. If I wanted to drive, i’d be driving.
K: YOU ARE FUCKING DRIVING.