Wilma tells Homer she could help him. “If you’d let me,” she says.
“I’ve got to work it out myself,” replies Homer. “All I’ve wanted is for people to treat me like anybody else, instead of pitying me. I guess it’s – it’s hard for them to do that. I’ve just got to learn to get used to it and – – pay no attention.”
“Couldn’t I-” begins Wilma, touching his arm.
“No!” shouts Homer, pounding his arm on the workbench. “I’ve gotta do it myself!”
Wilma begins to cry, and runs out of the workshop.
Homer looks down at the workbench, and then at the workshop door.
Wilma hurries down the Parrish driveway, then breaks into a run as she nears the front of her house.
Later that night, Homer finishes brushing his teeth. He wipes his mouth with a towel. He exits the bathroom and closes the bathroom door.
In the darkened upstairs hallway, Homer peers into Luella’s room.