Morning, honey.
Guess what, it's time to take our father-daughter Christmas photo.
And I've found some pretty great costumes we can rent.
Oh!
I hope you also found a daughter you can rent.
Oh!
Okay, first of all, I totally hear ya.
You don't wanna do it.
Second of all, ya are doing it.
Because third, I control the food and money.
So, for this year's photo, I wanna do 1950s Christmas.
I'll be the church-going but closeted dad, and you can be my high-achieving
but rebellious daughter who's secretly dating a Jewish boy.
You send those pictures to everyone we know.
Sooner or later, one of them's gonna show up on Instagram.
And then I'll be insta-screwed.
I wanna be closeted '50s dad!
Come on, our Christmas photo is a tradition.
Remember when you were Annie and I was closeted Daddy Warbucks?
Adorable.
You were adorable.
I looked like Ronald McDonald in drag.
Well, I'm sorry, but sometimes we have to do things for our
parents just because they raised us and we wanna make them happy.
Okay, okay. Fine, fine! I'll do the photo.
Okay, thank you. You may continue to enjoy my food and money.
I'm using my key.
Good morning, sweetheart.
You're so thin. Eat something.
I have a problem.
Charlie, my dance partner, took a walk three days ago, ended up in Cleveland.
Now they're keeping him there.
So now I need a new dancing partner.
- No. - Aw, come on.
- It's only for a couple of weeks. - No.
And then a dance contest.
A dance contest?
Yes!
I'm just kidding. It's still no.
I don't understand you. You used to love dancing when you were little.
Remember that dance class we joined for newly divorced families?
That was for newly divorced men and women.
I was the only kid there.
So what? Look at you. You have the hips of a Cuban.
You had tremendous potential. Suddenly you didn't wanna dance anymore.
Suddenly?
I begged you for months to let me out of that class.
You were so critical.
"Stand up straight.
Look at me, not your giant feet."
Well, well, well.
All those years you were locked up in your room
I thought you were just playing with yourself.
Apparently you were keeping a journal of every little thing I did wrong.
Sean, Charlie and I won the last three contests,
and this year we were sizzling too.
Perhaps because he thought he was dancing with his dead wife.
I'm begging you. This is your mother begging you.
Is that what you want?
What I want is a 1950s mom
who quiets her disappointment with Martinis and pills.
Dad, I don't understand why you won't dance with Grandma.
Didn't you say we should do things to make our parents happy?
That's why I have to take that Christmas card picture with you, isn't it?
Or maybe I don't.
I'm so confused.
Do you want me to wander off to Cleveland like Charlie?
Because that's where this is heading.
If you say no to Grandma, I just think I should get to say no to you.
She's right. It's a double standard.
What kind of example is that?
I'm asking you.
It's a terrible one. I'm telling you.
All right, fine. I'll be your dance partner.
The things I do for you.
To make you do things for me.
Sync and correction by matheusmachado7 for Www.Addic7ed.Com.
You move your giant feet.
I'm a man... I'm supposed to have giant feet.
How about you close your giant mouth? How about that?
Hey, buddy, you fighting with your bagel?
I went to a dance class last night with my mom.
I'll show you what it was like.
You be me and I'll be my mom, okay?
And, no, no, no, no, no.
Close, but no, bad and no.
Wrong and no. No, no, no.
Yikes, if your mom's that critical
why on Earth would you agree to be her partner?
I was trying to set an example for Ellie.
- See, sometimes parenting... - I'm already bored.
So get out of it.
I once wanted to get out of helping a friend move,
so I pretended I slammed my hand in a car door.
I got out of helping and he sent me flowers.
You realize that friend was me.
Oh, well, you had money. Hire somebody. What's the matter with you?
I guess I could fake an injury, but my mom's really looking
forward to this dance contest and I don't wanna disappoint her.
On the list of my mom's mental states I don't wanna hear about,
disappointed is second only to horny.
So fake the injury and find somebody to take your place.
Come on, who would I get to dance with my mom?
I'll do it.
Really? You wanna dance with my mother?
Oh, God, no.
But I'd do it for a price.
I'm listening. What's your price?
It's my week to handle customer complaints and there's a woman...
Mrs. Ira Blinkman, who is horrible.
Her abusive phone calls drove the owner of "MyLifeIsReallyReallyGreat.Com"
to hang himself.
Oh, I know Blinkman.
Just don't ask me to take her calls for you.
I want you to take her calls for me, Sean.
Blast!
You do that and I'll show your mother a good time.
That sounded sexual.
Just to be clear, I will not be having sex with your mother.
Well, you don't have to decide that now.
Okay, we have a deal.
Jerry, you're handling Mrs. Blinkman this week.
What? Why?
Because I'm your supervisor and you keep using the mug that says "Sean" on it.
Fine, but can we share the mug?
- Go away, Jerry. - Okay.
Okay, let's do it. Which part of my body should I fake being injured?
I once pretended to hurt my knee when I wanted
to get out of taking a friend to the airport.
Again, me.
You ask me for a lot of stuff.
Okay, how's this? Does this look real?
Ugh, ow.
A little more ankle.
Less body.
Okay, now you look like Quasimodo running for a bathroom.
- Sean, Liz. - Boss.
Sean, there's a rumor going around that your mother
was in need of a partner for a dance contest.
There's another rumor going around that I was not asked to be that partner, and I
know that rumor to be true because I'm me and I was with me when I was not asked.
Well, it never occurred to me to come to you, Max.
Did it ever occur to you that on top of being a fierce competitor
I'm also an excellent dancer?
Two traits that served me very well when I was a U.S. Army choreographer.
The Army has choreographers?
Hundreds of them.
- Why? - We don't have to get into th...
No, Sean, I will answer that.
I don't know.
Max, if you really wanted to dance with my mother...
Oh, God, no.
I did, however, want to be asked.
I'm not the kind of person who goes around excluding people
from things and I don't think other men should either.
You understand what I'm saying, don't you, Liz?
Yeah-huh.
You see, Liz knows what's what.
And that's why I'm giving her this fancy pen.
Damn!
They keep these in a glass case at Staples.
Oh, I'm sorry, Sean. Did you want a fancy pen as well?
It never occurred to me that you might not like to be excluded from things.
I'm sorry, I don't have another one.
I do have another one.
Liz, you may have two pens.
I'm so glad you dug out these all old home movies.
Remind me to look for the one of you pooping in that flower pot.
Yes, and thanks again for filming it instead of putting me on the toilet.
You were such a cute little dork.
Oh, God, here comes the big finish.
And aha!
Right on!
Hey, who screwed me up?
That woman.
It looked like you were having fun.
Well, sure. When you go to the circus all you see is a monkey wearing a funny hat.
You don't see them gluing it to his little head.
Well, since Hunter replaced you as Grandma's dance partner,
I don't think I should have to take the Christmas picture.
Did you not understand my circus analogy?
Put the hat on, monkey.
Look, I would have danced with Grandma.
It's just I dropped that box on my foot.
No more man sandals at the office for me, even though I rock them.
Maybe Hunter could fill in for me if I drop a heavy box on my face.
Not happening.
Besides, Hunter may not be available after Grandma reaches down his throat,
pulls out his confidence, and eats it in front of him.
No, no, no, no, no.
You are 100% wrong.
See?
I will not have you criticize your dancing.
You were perfect tonight.
What did you say to him?
What? He's a wonderful dancer.
We had a terrific time.
Yeah, we did have fun, Sean.
Your mom's got moves.
Hey, you got moves, lady.
- Ooh, I wanna see. - Oh.
And...
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
Perfect. Yes, yes, yes, yes.
Right, right. Yes, yes, yes.
And yes.
You guys are great together.
Yes. And yes, and yes, yes, yes.
All right, Chief, thanks for filling in.
Mmm, something smells good. You guys having spaghetti?
Yes, we are. See you tomorrow.
What's your game, woman?
I'm a better dancer than Hunter. You never complimented me like that.
You always said my hustle wasn't groovy enough.
Or my Tango wasn't smoldering. What 12-year-old smolders?
Eh, probably Ryan Gosling.
Your footwork was always inconsistent.
It still is. You're limping on the wrong foot.
No I'm not. I'm...
It was my... I dropped the Bo... wait, it was...
Aw, crap. Damn you, woman.
I knew you were faking it.
It's like that time you tried to get out of peewee football
by saying you were menstruating.
I didn't know what it meant.
I just knew it got you out of doing stuff with dad.
Oh, my God, dad. What happened to doing things for your parents to make them happy?
It only applies if it's possible to make them happy.
I am so not taking that picture now.
And you don't have a leg to stand on. Not even your fake-injured one.
Boom.
Look what you just did.
You. Get no. Spaghetti.
I'm the one who should be mad.
Dancing with me is so terrible you had to pretend drop a box on your foot?
Yes.
Well, guess what. I don't wanna dance with you either.
Then why did you ask me?
Because I didn't have Hunter, but now I do and he's fantastic.
Well, why don't you marry him?
Please, don't marry him.
I'm not gonna marry him, but he and I are gonna walk
down the aisle of victory at that dance contest.
Oh, yeah? As my bridesmaids.
Yeah, because I'm gonna find a partner, enter that contest, and win.
And then I'm gonna rub that trophy in your face!
Is it a trophy or some kind of plaque?
It's a trophy and two gift certificates at Joe's Deli.
All shall be rubbed in your face!
Ah, big talk, big talk.
- Is that spaghetti ready? - Yes.
- Can I have some? - Get a plate!
There you are!
I need you to enter the ballroom dance contest with me so I can destroy my mom.
You know I haven't spoken to my mom in, like, a year, right?
You might wanna try that some time.
That sounds great, but unfortunately, my mom got under my skin,
things were said, and now I'm going footloose on her ass.
I don't know, I'm not much of a ballroom dancer.
My area of expertise is more in droppin' it like it's hot.
Uh-huh, uh-huh.
Liz, as your supervisor, this is totally inappropriate.
As your dance partner, I can work with it.
- Yeah, you can. Uh. Mm-hmm. - Uh-huh. Mm-hmm.
All right.
Kitchen dance party.
Now I don't know what's going on with you and your mom, Sean,
but you denied me spaghetti last night, so now I'm gonna whup your butt
all over that community center dance floor.
Oh, yeah? Well, when I'm done with you,
you'll be looking at the business end of "right on!"
Oh, I see.
More dancing that doesn't include me.
I do not like where this is going.
You know, you could just dance with us, Max.
Oh, I know. I certainly could.
I have got the moves, even beyond Jagger,
but Sean would not like me to, otherwise he would have asked me.
So let's just focus on the work, shall we?
What ideas do you have for the tablewear page?
Well, I'm working with the theme of make every day a party with...
Hate it!
- You didn't even let me finish. - Oh, wow. Imagine that.
Rejecting someone before you even know what they're capable of.
Go on. Next.
- Well. Max. You didn't. I'm not even. - Bad. Hate it. Terrible.
- You didn't. I can... - The worst. Check-minus. Fail!
Maybe you two are avoiding the real issue.
Okay, Max, I'm sorry I neglected to ask you about your background in dance.
It was unforgivable.
But since the contest is in a few days
and you're a battle-tested Army choreographer...
Would you please help Liz and me craft a winning dance number?
All right, fine, I will help you.
But I'm warning you, Sean, I'm a fierce competitor.
You will either win, or you will die trying!
I both admire and immediately fear your intensity, Sir.
Now about my "every day is a party tablewear"...
Love it.
Every day is a party, when you're invited.
So you and your mom have a fight and then settle it on the dance floor?
Oh. Gay much?
That's all you got, huh?
Ooh, I'm so scared.
Actually, I am kinda scared.
They were really jazzy out there.
I'm not scared. We've been practicing all week.
Plus, just to make sure I stayed calm, I took one of those little
pills they use to tranquilize my dog when he gets his teeth cleaned.
Sorry I had to crush it out there, Sean.
I only have one setting and it's bam kapow magic!
Good luck, sweetheart. I only wish there could be two winners.
Oh, wait, there will be.
- Hunter and me. - Oh, yeah?
You talk with your lips.
I talk with my hips.
That's a weird thing to say to your mother.
Don't let her get to you. Look at my eyes, right here.
My God, your pupils are huge.
Harmless side effect.
Buddy gets it too.
Great work this week, dancers.
Liz, I'm sorry I threw that chair at you.
It's all part of the process.
Sean, you have earned...
a fancy pen.
Thank you.
I'm embarrassed by how much I wanted this.
Oh.
Ooh! My nose!
- Oh, God. - Oh, my God, you're bleeding!
I'm so sorry.
Up next, couple number 12.
That's you. Stop bleeding. Stop bleeding right now!
Here, put some ice on it.
I'll be fine. I'll just run and get some tissues.
- Okay, watch out. The floor is... - Whoa!
- Wet. - Ow, my ankle.
Couple number 12, please get off the floor.
Great.
There's nothing we can do now. It's over.
Not so fast, Sean.
I didn't sign on to this project to get whipped by your unexpectedly nimble mother.
In spite of Liz's pathetically weak nose, and ankle and spirit...
Hey!
We're winning that trophy.
- But how are we gonna do... - In the Army, we had a saying.
Never leave a man behind...
On the dance floor.
Hate me and love me. That's the Tango.
Wow, I don't wanna jinx it, but I think I'm smoldering.
Time to pour some gasoline on the fire.
Oh, God, I think one of your balls is on my arm.
Then run away from it, Sean.
That was awesome.
I would high five you, but I think cupping your buttocks is enough for one night.
No one has lifted me like that since Corporal Ramirez.
I owe him an email.
So, uh, where will these photos be appearing?
Uh, on the cork board in the lobby.
Really? We're gonna be famous until we're covered by a menu.
Congratulations you two.
Sean, I'm giving you your mom back.
Lorna, if you ever need a dance partner again, look me up.
Well, I have dance class on Monday night.
Good, because I'm surprisingly super into this.
Hey, you guys were great.
Does my ankle look okay?
No.
Come on. I'll take you to the emergency room.
No one has asked me if I would like to go to the emergency room.
Max, would you like to go to the emergency room?
I would.
When I kicked my leg up onto Sean, one of my testicles went M.I.A.
Congratulations, sweetheart.
Thank you.
Hey, take a look, at my trophy, huh?
Look, who's that in the reflection there, huh?
Big old loser and her name is Mommy.
Yeah, I thought you were wonderful out there.
No. You will not... excuse me?
I know you think I was critical of you when you were little,
but I only pushed you because I wanted you to be successful at dancing and everything.
And you are.
Well.
Look what you just did.
- Shall we? - I'd love to.
Watch those giant feet.
Shut up.
Let me guess. This means our Christmas picture's back on?
As a wise and very graceful man once said,
sometimes we do things just to make our parents happy.
Moral high ground recovered.
Boom.
Hello, closeted '50s dad. You look swell.
Thank you, kitten.
You're turning into quite the beautiful young lady,
and I know because I'm into women.
Say, how about that Jane Russell?
Those gowns are stunning.
I mean, baseball.
- Are you ready, Lenny? - All this for the cork board?
No, this is for our Christmas...
Wait, you can get this on the cork board?
Grandma, we're supposed to be in the '50s.
Ah, the '60s were much more fun for me.
Got my first apartment, lived in San Francisco.
I even limboed with Harry Belafonte.
And by limbo, I mean...
- We get it. - Stop.
That man really tallied me bananas.
Oh, Grandma. You're a hoot and a half.
They would have shot this family in the '50s.
Happy Monday. How's everyone?
Eh, last week was full of ballroom fabulousness
and this week we're just back in our hamster cages.
I miss my fancy rainbow sleeves and my figure skating pants.
Well, the good news is we learned something about Max
we can use to lighten up the mood around here.
Underneath that rigid, robotic exterior,
there's fun-loving dance bunny ready to hop out.
Ooh, observe.
Oh.
Kitchen dance party.
And everyone is invited.
Nice try!
Oh, you thought you could goof off by
distracting me with these intoxicating rhythms.
Well, you were wrong.
We are here to sell aspirational bric-a-brac to the middle class,
not to go to funky town.
Back to work.
Sigh.
Kitchen dance solo.
I forgot my bagel...
By the way, you are fully visible through this nonexistent door.
Very well. We may all break it down for the next two minutes.
Two minute dance party, people!
Re-Sync & corrections by P2Pfiend. Www.Addic7ed.Com.