Mother: You’ve got this sixth sense for picking losers. Sometimes I wonder. . .do you really want to get married?
Bea: More than anything! Don’t you think I want to have a child before it’s too late? God, how I envy you. I just want it to be perfect.
Mother: Well, it’s never perfect. If you wait for perfect, you don’t get pregnant. You wind up with your teeth in a glass of water.