KEITH: Come on, pookie face, give the cameras some love.
NICOLE: No.
KEITH: Awwwww, who's being a crankypants?
NICOLE: Shut up.
KEITH: Are my little Crabby Drawers? Are you?
NICOLE: Stop it! I just... I don't want to break my streak.
KEITH: What streak?
NICOLE: The one where I wear something perfect when I'm your date to something, and then go all crazy when it's you being the plus-one.
KEITH: Let your public decide.
NICOLE: I don't know...
KEITH: Pleeeeeeease?
NICOLE: Okay, fine.
NICOLE: HERE. Are you happy?
KEITH: So happy. You've got fur shoulders and a snakeskin body stocking. It's like a DREAM. Why are you not on some deliciously campy nighttime soap opera?
NICOLE: Because those shows don't exist anymore.
KEITH: Change that! You're NICOLE KIDMAN.
NICOLE: I just... I'm not sure this really LOOKS very good. It's a bit... flimsy. And my hair seems depressed. Even YOUR hair seems depressed, actually.
KEITH: Well, sometimes my hair gets mad at my soul patch. They squabble. Kids, you know?
NICOLE: Do you mind giving me a moment alone to think?
KEITH: Sure, peachtree. Whatever you want.
NICOLE: Hi, America. Now that I'm not married to Scientology, I can come to you earnestly and pray that you really like this?