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A monologue from the play by Robin Rothstein
WENDY (twenties – thirties)
Wendy is talking to an unseen friend over a glass of wine. Wendy is seated on one end of a couch holding a glass of red wine. There is an end table next to her with an open bottle and a phone. She drinks.
Okay, time to be frank. You’re right. There is something going on with me. I really didn’t want to say anything yet, but since you’re being so persistent. (Pause. Smiles.) I have been seeing the world’s greatest guy!
Aaaaaaaaaah! I’ve said it! Well, it hasn’t been that long and I wasn’t sure if it was going to stick. I know. Can you believe it? His name is Tim. I mean Timothy. Timothy, Timothy, Timothy.
In fact, I expect him to call soon so we can make plans for tonight. Yup. Well, you know what they say, “It’s when you’re not looking.” Well, it’s only been a few weeks, so I don’t like consider us “official”
but I’m glad I can finally tell someone I’m so about to bust out of my control tops! And I have this feeling . . . I think he could be “the one”! Aaaaaaaaaah! I know! Isn’t it crazy?
Me. “The General Cho’s Chicken-Eating, No-Social-Life, Video-Renting Misfit”! Can you believe it? I feel so blessed. So blessed. He’s smart, funny . . . well, I mean . . . in his own way funny.
Not laugh out loud hilarious split a gut and accidentally fart funny, more like a . . . beige funny. You know. Like droll? He’s actually kind of quiet. But I’ve discovered that I prefer quiet people.
I do. I am actually a quiet person. Whenever I talk, it’s just a façade. (Long pause. Wendy sips more wine and glances at the phone.) The greatest thing about Tim — Timothy . . . is that he’s not creative.
He’s an accountant. I know, can you believe it? Not to say that he’s boring. I mean, he doesn’t say much, but when he does speak, he’s very sensual. He has this way of saying “refund” that makes me want to stick my tongue right down his throat.
He also has that kind of great pedigree that mother always dreamed about. The kind that could get you into the New York Times bridal announcements?
Last name Twitmeyer, undergrad Princeton, mother a descendant of Kierkegaard. And to top it all off, he’s normal. Yes. Can you believe it? I finally found a normal person. HooF***ING-ray!
And a gentleman, can I tell you? He almost always pays. I make that false attempt to pay my share, you know the hand going toward the pocketbook motion, but he almost always stops me.
(Pause.) Oh…well…the sex…it’s…let’s just say, “Heaven” is an understatement. (She drinks some wine.) Except he has these two cats. They always start crawling on my back right when I start giving him a blow job.
Talk about your “ménage a cat-tre.” (She laughs hysterically at this. Then slowly, her laughter dies. Plainly.) The first time we slept together, Timothy was pumping me hard for,
well, a while and I started worrying that I wasn’t going to be able to come and the more I worried the worse, well, you know. So, he’s pumping and grunting and murmuring
and I’m trying to make myself excited by fantasizing that I’m this new girl on the job in a p*rn video being bonked by her dirty old boss when all of a sudden I get this soft, wet feeling in my ear. Oh my god.
It was soooooo erotic. I exploded. I swear. I had the most mammoth org*sm I have ever had. Yeah, I know. Isn’t that great! I was really happy to know it could happen for me.
The only thing is . . . (She starts laughing.) . . . now this is really funny . . . I’m not sure if what I felt in my ear was Timothy, or one of the cats. (She drinks more wine.) What it comes right down to?
Is that it’s comfortable when we’re together. And that’s what’s really important. I mean, I’m not like instantly attracted to him. My cl*t doesn’t perk up and scream gimme gimme whenever I think about him,
or when he touches me, but because we were friends first, it’s like we care about one another. I, you know, eventually get excited. I just have to concentrate. Harder. Unless, of course, one of his cats is nearby.
