JOSH: Peyton Cabot Harrison III. He sounds like he should be a Supreme Court justice.
DONNA: It’s a good name.
JOSH: Phillips Exeter, Princeton, Rhodes scholar, Harvard Law Review, for which he was, oh yeah, the editor. Did I mention that he was dean of Harvard Law School? Did I mention that his father was attorney general to Eisenhower?
DONNA: Peyton Cabot Harrison III.
JOSH: That’s right.
DONNA: Jewish fellow?
JOSH: You’re not gonna ruin this moment for me, Donna.
DONNA: I’m sharing this moment with you.
JOSH: This is a big day for us.
DONNA: You’re the men.
JOSH: You know what we’re finally gonna have?
DONNA: A waspy old man in the Supreme Court?
JOSH: A smooth confirmation process.
DONNA: You think?
JOSH: It’s gonna sail.
DONNA: I hope so.
JOSH: It’s gonna sail, Donna.
DONNA: There’s many a slip twixt the tongue and the wrist, Josh.
JOSH: Yes. Well, your fortune cookie wisdom notwithstanding, it’s gonna sail.
DONNA: Please don’t get your hopes up.
JOSH: Why shouldn’t I get my hopes up?
DONNA: Because when it doesn’t work out, you end up drunk in my apartment in the middle of the night and yell at my roommate’s cats.
JOSH: Smooth sailing, Donna.
DONNA: Cautious optimism, Josh.
JOSH: Nothing bad is gonna happen this week.
DONNA: Exercise cautious optimism.
JOSH: Look, there is no reason…
A big chunk of the ceiling comes falling down in front of Josh. It crashes on his desk.
JOSH: Well… okay.
He dusts his sleeve and looks up the ceiling.
