"Yes," Lee says, "which man?" right as Tzipporah exclaims, "I'm right here, you putz!" and goes to push him, loses her balance, and falls over the back of the couch, squashing both of them with her flailing little bird legs. Lee gets a mouthful of feathers and spills wine on the couch, which has not survived the night unscathed anyway; RIP, couch.
"I know you," Tzipporah accuses. Is she just going to sit there, getting in their way? Yes? Okay. "You're the Moon Man. Lyle told me. I think the exact words were 'some Charlie Chaplin looking jerk.' Are you a jerk?"
"Which man?" Lee demands again, determined to get an answer to this question.