Ayn Rand’s The Devil Wears Prada
By Good stuff for this Wednesday morning coming down (or afternoon depending on your time zone):
INFERIOR MAN: Hey.
ANDREA: Happy birthday. Nate, I’m so sorry. I kept trying to leave, but there was a lot going on. And, you know, I didn’t have a choice.
INFERIOR MAN: Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna go to bed.
ANDREA: You are a grown man with a demanding job of your own, yet you seek to punish me for missing several hours of a completely arbitrary event in order to excel in my chosen career?
INFERIOR MAN: I said don’t worry about it.
ANDREA: And you lack even the common manly courage to fight with me about this matter? You would rather slink off to bed, stinking of jealousy and defeat, than argue with the woman you call your mate? You are so lost to your higher self that you would resent me for my achievements, rather than celebrate them with me, sexually?
INFERIOR MAN: I guess.
ANDREA: You disgust me. You are not my sexual equal. You make expensive cheeses for idlers, triflers, and non-producers. I create value in a billion-dollar industry. Your good opinion is utterly meaningless. I will find myself a man who is a captain of industry and buys diamonds to wrap around my throat. You will die in squalid poverty, surrounded by greasy snacks. Good-bye forever.
INFERIOR MAN: Andrea, wait.
ANDREA [over her shoulder]: If you ever make something of value by yourself, take a picture and send it to me. My address will be the tallest skyscraper in the world.