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A monologue from the play by Barbara Blumental-Ehrlich
Marnie is having an affair with her neighbor Robert, who she met in the frozen foods section of the local supermarket.
Both are married, just not to each other. Here, she explains to Robert -why she can’t fall in love with him.
I can’t fall in love with you! No. I mean, I can’t. Like I can’t speak French. Like I can’t write with my left hand. I can’t fall in love. I can’t do it.
Maybe it’s like riding a bike or breathing to everybody
else, but—I personally cannot fall in love. Not like ’til death do us part.
Not even for an hour on Tuesday mornings. Love’s crap. It’s a blip, ok? A double rainbow …. a rare bird …. a four-leaf clover.
It’s silent and fleeting and …. we try to tame it… domesticate it … draaaaaaag it out. … have breakfast with it…
introduce it to our parents … have kids with it. But, Robert, the thing is: we’re grabbing at steam. Before you know it, we mangle it.
Destroy it. We f*** it up. Take it out on each other. End up dead inside. And that brings us right up to the present. I’m dead inside.
I haven’t felt my toes in years. The only reason things went so well for us was, one: you seemed happily married … and two: we were in “Frozen Foods.”
My temperature inside me matched the temperature outside in the store. If we had been in “Prepared Foods” none of this would have happened.
I don’t get hot. Not figuratively. Not literally. Nothing can warm me up. Not even soup. Not vegetable. Or lentil or … or … or … what the f***, chicken matzoh ball.
And it’s not because anyone treated me badly or I was abused or felt unwanted. And it’s not because I don’t wish I could. I wish I could. Desperately.
It’s just not in my DNA. I’m a freak of nature. Or maybe just a straight-up freak. I’d love to know what all the fuss is about.
Not just ‘cause it looks awesome in the movies. Or, because people will practically walk on hot coals—lie, cheat, steal and even kill—for it.
But because … well, frankly … I’m lonely. The more is not the merrier. In fact, I feel worse and worse and worse every time one of these things fails.
After you, Robert, I swear, it’s a straight drop. God, saying that out loud … just … feels … great. You wanna f*** or not?
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