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A monologue from the play by John P. McEneny
Lower your voice. I was not playing with Elina Plugaru’s ponytail during the lecture. I was not stroking it.
I was barely petting it. It was just there. Dangling freely on my desk while I’m taking notes. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Who are you to judge me? Why are you even watching me? Beth!? Beth. NO! NO! What do you even care what I do with Elina Plugaru’s hair?
You’re not my girlfriend. You had your chance one year ago at Model Congress and you blew it, lady!
And don’t pretend you were drunk on wine coolers, because the stuff you said was really cruel and small and unforgivable.
And it wasn’t a perm—it was a relaxer. Many men use it. I told you—my cousin Manny mixed the ammonium thioglycolate with too much petroleum jelly
and then left it in too long . . . and he should have used a neutralizer and just shut up. NO! Maybe I was just trying to look nice for you. [Pause.]
That night at the Comfort Inn was really important to me. It was supposed to have been special and it took a lot of planning on my part.
I was very vulnerable and you knew it. It may not have been your ﬁrst time but it was mine and I wanted it to be nice.
And you ruined it. I had to borrow money from my dad. I had to pay almost three hundred dollars for a new ozonator because the rose petals got stuck in the ﬁlter of the Jacuzzi.
I had to borrow money from my dad. Try lying to your dad that you were at a Comfort Inn ALONE on a Tuesday night in a Jacuzzi ﬁlled with rose petals.
He still won’t look at me. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m happy now. Now ﬁnally I’m happy and I don’t think about you anymore.
I feel good about myself, and my hair is growing in, and I’m happy, and I aced my GRE’s and now . . . NOW, you’re acting like a scorned woman?
Like you’re Nastasya Filippovna from that stupid Dostoyevsky novel.
If you think you’re going to bring your jealousy and misplaced romantic aspirations into a literary journal, then you’re dead wrong.
You’re not ruining my senior year, Beth.
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