Head Over Heels

My high-school boyfriend,
Charlie, left me for,

Well, someone who didn 't have any boobs.
Amanda. This isn't what it looks like.
But that's all behind me now.
I have a great job restoring paintings
at the Metropolitan Museum.

I'm in the Renaissance art division,
Where the men are easier to deal with.
There you are, handsome.
So there's this new hottie upstairs
in 20th-century sculpture.

She is so sweet, and I swear I'm gonna be gettin'
all up in there, and I'm gonna be--

Lisa, you are crossing the sharing boundary again.
But seriously, we have to put in for transfers.
Renaissance is a dead end.
We're gonna end up like the menopause triplets there.

What? Hmm?
I don't think I could ever leave Renaissance.
I would miss these paintings way too much.
I mean, they're just so romantic and--
- Shit. Here comes old man Rankin. Look busy.
- Oh! Rat farts!

I am busy.
Help me look busy.

- Afternoon, ladies.
- When will we go to the Poconos again?

Amanda, I need your help.
Take a look at this piece of crap.
Oh, my God, it's--
That's Titian's The Bacchanal.
- Oh!
- There she goes again.

Look at this man's face.
It's completely lost.

You're gonna have to start from scratch on that.
Put aside your other work, Amanda.
This is priority number one for now.

What's with you and this weak-in-the-knees routine?
You do it every time you get a new painting.
I do not.
Not every time.

I mean, when I look at this painting,
I can just tell that these people were in love...
and they stayed in love until the day that they died.
Amanda, it's a painting.
If this were real life, in two years,

that girl would be pregnant and that guy
would be out banging a barmaid.

Maybe that's why I like art better than real life.