Transcription

[[Wearing her brand-new "darker gray" jumpsuit Trudy is continuing her tirade about the present state of human clothing aboard the Greys' ship. Ki, Fooker, Trish, and Patty listen as they eat.]]
Trudy: Whose idea was it to mold us all into some utilitarian, unisex, uniform package? It's formless, shapeless, and unimaginative!

Trudy: It's no wonder morale around here is in the space toilet. These aliens are literal CLONES and they expect us to be photocopies as well. Manufactured, packaged, delivered.

Trudy: [pinching folds of her jumpsuit for emphasis] These outfits are symptomatic of our suppressed creativity and individuality. We nee visual stimulation: patterns, colors, shapes. We need STYLE!

[[The others are just looking up at her, tolerantly. Trudy notices and spreads her arms as she questions them.]]
Trudy: You can't tell me I'm the ONLY one who's bothered by this?
Patty: [drily] Um... Yeah?
[[Fooker slurps noisily from his drink cup through a straw.]]