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A monologue from the play by Nandita Shenoy
SONYA (mid thirties)
Sonya has been hiding a secret from her new husband, Michael.
She hasn’t told him that her studio apartment in a Manhattan co-op is single occupancy only even though he has moved in with her because she doesn’t want to give up her washer/dryer.
However, Michael pushes Sonya too far on the topic of her beloved appliance and she tells her story.
You don’t understand my f***ing washer-dryer? Do you know how I bought this place? I had my face on the side of a Monistat box for three years!
Three years when my disembodied head sailed through the air on morning television extolling the virtues of a three-day suppository.
Three years when at every party I went to someone would ask me if I was having that “not so fresh” feeling even though that is the line from a Summer’s Eve commercial and has nothing to do with Monistat at all.
But the money was good. It was so good that I didn’t care. And somewhere in my mind, a little voice said, “This might be as good as it gets.” So instead of going hog wild on residuals,
I saved it all up for a down payment on an apartment so that I could have a home, always. I looked at 42 apartments all by myself, made offers on four, but this is the only one that accepted.
The horrible board made me jump through all kinds of hoops with letters of reference and pages and pages of documents. They practically asked me for my first-born child. My face broke out from the stress.
But at the end of it all, single Indian actress me owned a small, very small, piece of real estate on the isle of Manhattan which contained the ultimate prize for any New York apartment hunter-a washer-dryer.
And even though it’s small and in a ridiculous building, this apartment is everything to me. It is the house that yeast built. And if you don’t understand that, Mr Momma’s Boy, then we should not be married at all.