Vino Veritas – Monologue (Claire)

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A monologue from the play by David MacGregor

CLAIRE (thirties – forties)

After imbibing a tribal truth serum, sweet and innocent housewife Claire begins to reveal her innermost thoughts to her bewildered husband.

Ridley’s mother? Please. Any time she comes over to our house it’s like inviting a killer whale to a baby seal festival. It’s just carnage as far as the eye can see. I mean, she’s babysitting tonight, right?

Do you know what she brought over for Krista? Three brand new DVDs. And not just any DVDs, oh no. Winnie the Pooh. Yep. You heard me right. Winnie the f***ing Pooh. What?

Oh my God…you don’t get it, do you? Well. of course you don’t. You’re all adults and leading adult lives and talking about drywall and the price of gas and whatnot. So, let me ask you something.

This is a serious question. Have you ever watched Winnie the Pooh? I mean, really watched it? Because I know Ridley hasn’t. He’s too busy with his patients and clinics and classes and seminars

and I’m the one who sits at home watching Winnie the Pooh over and over until every detail of The G*ddamned Hundred Acre Wood is burned into the back of my retinas! Excuse me?

You want to talk to me about Winnie the Pooh? Is that what you’re saying? I’ll tell you about Winnie the f***ing Pooh. Winnie the Pooh is an obsessive-compulsive addict who will do anything to score his next fix.

They say it’s honey he’s after, but it might as well be crack or crystal meth. He talks about it, he sings about it, he thinks about it every minute of every day. His best friend Piglet?

Neurotic and latently gay. Why else would he have a picture of Pooh on his living room wall? Eeyore? That poor son of a b*tch loses body parts on a regular basis and is badly in need of some antidepressants.

Owl is utterly delusional, Rabbit is a control freak, Gopher has a horrible speech impediment, Tigger is a classic case for the benefits of Ritalin, and I’ll tell you right now,

I think Roo is just a little bit too old to be hanging out in Kanga’s pouch! The Hundred Acre Wood is like some kind of cartoon mental institution! And that’s the kind of movie your mother brings into our home.

Read the play here

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