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A monologue from the play by Joan Casademont
Monica, a successful television talk show host, defends her bi*tchiness to Annie by pointing out that she has managed to survive in the very competitive world of TV.
I am sorry I’m such a b*tch! You know, it helps though, being a b*tch sometimes. I mean, I wouldn’t have gotten my own talk show if I wasn’t a b*tch. Besides, it would make me very happy to just once hear someone-i.e.,
a man-define “b*tch”. I ask my producer, my cameramen, my male staff members all the time to just give me real honest to God definition and they can’t! They say, “A b*tch is a b*tch.
You just know a b*tch when you see one.” Well, I don’t accept that! They can’t define it because what b*tch really means is a driven and in command woman. My producer comes into that studio like a wild bull ’cause somebody f***ed up,
and everybody goes, “Whoa, look at that Ralph, what a man!, some day he’s gonna run the network.” I come into that studio with a faint trace of smoke cormin’ outta one nostril ’cause one of my staff flat out gave me the wrong info and everybody goes,
“Whoa, look out, the b*tch is raggin’ out again!” I tell you, Annie, it is a battlefield out there, we’re all wearing Armani but the sexes are simply not from the same planet and together we have a national epidemic of total misunderstanding.
(She sighs, exhausted.) Still, I’m sorry if to you I acted like a—well, like a b*tch.