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A monologue from the play by Mark Dunn
Peggy is the oldest of six sisters and struggles to keep the family together via the phone lines. During a particularly intense evening of round-robin calling among the sisters, Peggy receives an obscene phone call and treats the caller to a taste of her sharp wit.
Hello?…No. I don’t think I would like that. I think it would hurt…No, I don’t think I like the sound of that either. May I go now?…You know, you don’t catch people in the best of moods when you call at three in the morning.
Most people are in their deepest stage of sleep by three. Wouldn’t you be a little impolite if somebody woke you from a deep sleep?…Why don’t you try warm milk or counting sheep?…
Yes, you could count those too, but I don’t see how a parade of naked mamas is going to—…No, actually you didn’t have the pleasure. I was wide awake. I’m an insomniac probably just like you except that when I can’t sleep,
I just wander around all night alone. I don’t resort to calling people on the phone to describe how I’d like to— You know, it takes an infantile mind to- …I said you were not very bright, little boy. Nor articulate.
You’ve used that same word ten times already. (Losing composure.) You’re a very lucky man, little boy. If you had made this call two years ago, my husband would have been on the extension.
He would have been listening to how you wanted to do this and that to various parts of my anatomy and he would have come looking for you. No place would have been safe.
He would have found you out and ripped your voice box right out of your throat. Then you’d have to translate your filthy fantasies into sign language. And you know what?
Sign language doesn’t go over too well on the telephone. (Answering a question.) He died, you little creep. He got sick and died. It was the only battle he ever—(She stops herself.)
I have some advice for you, little boy. Go into mommy and daddy’s medicine cabinet and find the sleeping pills. Count out forty. Swallow. Pleasant dreams.