Husband and Wife, an older couple, return home after an evening out.
W. Home sweet home. H. You can say that again. W. Home sweet home. H. Thank you. W. Welcome, darling. Oh, I've got to get these shoes off, my feet are not happy. H. I told you you should have gone with the flats. W. Flats do not go with this dress or with the evening. H. Would've made the dancing less painful. W. Oh, I wasn't in that much pain. H. I'm talking about me. The way you kept stepping on my shoes, I probably have stigmata on my feet. W. Well, Betty Sandborn was going to be there tonight, what did you expect me to do? She showed up dressed like she was headed to the goddamn Oscars, and I knew she would be. She always acts like she couldn't care less about her appearance or mine for that matter, but then Lord forbid she ever step out in jeans and a t-shirt. She's always got to compete with me. Always. I bet she'll even try to die before I do, just because she deems it fashionable. H. What if you go at the same time? W. Then she'll try to be deader. (imitating) "My heart stopped the fastest!" H. "My aneurysm burst harder." W. "I'm more pale in death." And then even her funeral would be fashion show. Black veils and lace. A runway leading all the way up to the freakin' pulpit. H. Will there be catwalk turns? W. Of course, what kind of funeral do you think this is? H. Sounds like fun. W. I swear, to you darling, if you go to that woman's funeral over mine, you're going to wish you were going to your own funeral instead of hers. H. Darling, I would never! W. I mean it! H. Of course. W. Even if I were dead already! H. Oh, well... Wife gasps sharply, incredulous. H. Are they serving cocktail shrimp afterwards? W. You've got to be kidding! H. You're going to make me miss out on cocktail shrimp? W. I cannot believe you. H. Me? Do you know how expensive that stuff is? And you're dead anyway? That's cold. W. (glowering) Pinky swear. H. Pinky toe swear. W. Ew, gross. You're silly. How would you even do that? You're silly. H. For you, love. I'll make it work. Husband quickly pecks his wife on the cheek and goes to hang his coat on the coat rack next to the door and notices a small white envelope on the ground just beneath the front door. H. What's this? Did you see this earlier? W. What? H. This envelope here? W. No, never. H. No postage. Looks like someone slipped it under the door. W. What is it? H. No idea. W. This is the part where you open it, darling. H. (oozing sarcasm) Oh, right now? Now is the time? He opens it and peers in. W. Well? H. Petals. W. Huh? Petals? Petals, what? H. Rose petals, it looks like. W. Let me see them. He overturns the envelope. Orange, yellow, pink, red, purple and lilac rose petals fall quickly, yet somehow majestically to the floor. W. Jesus. Did you have to turn them loose all over the floor? I just asked to see them. H. Don't worry, I'll pick them up. Kind of beautiful, aren't they? W. Yes, they are. Strewn all about the hardwood, they're gorgeous. Now can you pick them up. I am tired, I still need to get these shoes off, and I'm blaming you if I do and I slip on rose petals and break my neck. Wife goes to leave up the staircase upstage. H. Up in a moment, dear! Husband bends down to pick up petals. Suddenly, he stops, doubled over and yells in pain. W. What!? What happened? H. My back. It's gone out. I can't move. W. (grabbing at him) Here come sit on the couch. H. Don't move me, don't move me! W. I'm sorry. What can I do? H. Help--just help me to the couch. She does. Lays him down with difficulty. H. Ice pack or something? W. Yes, dear, of course! She exits. He struggles, uncomfortably. She returns with ice pack. W. Some muscle relaxers as well will help. Here. Try to rest. We'll get you to the doctor tomorrow. Remember twenty on, twenty off. Wife puts a few things away, fluffs a pillow here and there. H. I swear. This getting old thing sucks. In high school--even college, at two-hundred and thirty-five pounds, I could chase a man down field, and not only keep up with him, but get cozy right up next to him and hit him with such a force, you could hear everybody in the stands go "Oooooo" all at the same time--as a collective. And if he dropped the ball, oh they'd be in some trouble then. I'd pick up that ball and run it all the way back down field for a touchdown. At two-thirty-five. But nowadays...I bend over to pick up some flowers, I'm as useless as a hamster running in a wheel. W. Age is something that happens to us, there's no way around it. Unless you're Bob Barker or somebody. H. I guess. W. You still a great man to me, you know that? You just get some rest. We'll see the doctor tomorrow. He'll fix you up. She exits into the kitchen. Comes back with a broom and dustpan. She sweeps the petals and envelope into a dustpan. H. (groaning in pain) Can you bring me the muscle relaxers from the cabinet? W. Of course, dear! She exits into the kitchen. She returns a moment later with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. He takes the pills. H. Thank you. W. Tomorrow, we'll get you to the doctor. Are you going to stay here on the couch all night? H. Well, I'll put it like this. The only way I'm getting up those stairs is if you carry me and I don't see that happening. W. Hey, you never know. You've got Rosie the Riveter over here, in case you didn't know. Just try to get some rest, darling. She exits upstairs. Black out. END OF PART 1 PART 2
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