Joe: Hiya, Mrs. Flintstone. Is Flintstone around?
Wilma: Oh, uh, hello, Joe. Uh, eh, Fred?
Joe: Yeah, you know, your husband. Say, what's, uh, going on in the garage? (looks through garage window) Oh, no. Flintstone in tights doing a ballet? (laughs)
Wilma: Joe, Joe, wait. You wouldn't repeat this to anyone, would you?
Joe: Are you kidding? This is the scoop of the century!
(Joe leaves laughing)
Wilma: Oh, boy. And they call us women gossipy.