I happen to have an exceptionally exquisite ass.  I’m mentioning this because I happened to notice that you haven’t happened to notice my exceptionally exquisite ass.

And while you probably think that’s somehow very gentlemanly, the fact is that I don’t get up at 5 a.m. every week day, even though I can never fall asleep until after midnight–thanks to my annoying upstairs neighbor talking extra loud to her deaf grandmother every night in Vietnamese–just to make sure I get one of the only two available stairmasters at our crappy local Fit-for-Life–with its crappy one-channel televisions at that hour always playing reruns of Mary Tyler Moore, in Spanish–only to have you refuse to even sneak a glance.

So look at it.  Right now!  See how each hemisphere lifts in these yoga pants, just wonderfully firm but yet still delightfully feminine?  I deserve a good, long checking out.  That’s better. OK.  Enough.  Don’t let’s get pervy, shall we?

First of all, I love you.

Not—I don’t really love you, like, LOVE you… We just don’t have a word… You know how in England, they’ll say they ‘fancy’ someone? That. I fancy you. Like, we say, I ’like’ you, but that’s sorta, like, fifth grade, and it’s not enough to describe the flutter in my stomach. Neither is saying I fancy you, really… Umm… so, yeah, I guess that means I’m in l—Well, not—Don’t think—It’s just…

Also, I slept with your brother.

I didn’t know he was your brother though. I hadn’t met you yet. And it wasn’t my fault; he has those, your, those same deep grey eyes, you know? So I just had to do him. I couldn’t help myself. But, I mean, of course I could resist doing him if I was, you know, doing you. Not that I want to presume any… doing. Although if you felt like… a do…

I’m going to stop using that word.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Your brother’s eyes aren’t like yours: gorgeous pools of molten steel, the depths of which reflect a hidden future that a woman may only allow herself to wish for only on a starry night, your rippling arms to come home to, each of my children with that same cleft in their chin that you have. Or… that’s coming on too strong. Right? I know it is. It’s just that you seem like the kind of man who wouldn’t shy away from Love. That’s one of the things I love about you. Well, fancy about you.

Huh? Oh… Daisy. And here I promised myself next time I’d start with my name. Anyway, yes, mocha latte coming up.

A:  What happened? I thought you really liked him!

B:  Yeah.

A:  Third date. Best panties, just in case.

B:  Blue lace with the heart made of rhinestones, yeah. Things got waxed that ain’t been waxed in some time.

A:  So what happened?

B:  We sorta started, but… I guess he only likes it if I talk. Like, dirty talk.

A:  Oh.

B:  Have you ever… ?

A:  Sure.

B:  OK, well… Help?

A:  Ain’t a thing. You just lean into his ear and–

B:  But… I get really uncomfortable with… well… nouns. I don’t like, you know, dirty words. Body parts.

A:  So you can’t tell him to grab your ti–

B:  No!

A:  Or to take out his co–

B:  NO!

A:  Or caress your pu—

B:  DEFINITE NO!

A:  I see.

B:  And science words don’t do it. Plus, you run out fast. I actually told him my fallopian tubes ached for him.

A:  Wow. Well, you’ve had boyfriends. What words have you used before for your pu—

B:  (panicked, high pitch noise) Mmp!

A:  For your… crotch.. ular… region. You know, that you could say?

B:  Well. I let Mark use the word tulip. And Dante called it my… pinkberry

Belly laugh from A. Not with, but at B.

B:  Stop it!

A:  OK, OK, OK. Maybe just talk like they do in romance novels. You can be all, “My love canal longs for its harbormaster.” Use words like ‘engorged’ a lot. Ooh, and ‘turgid.’

B:  I don’t think I could say that…

A:  All right. Last resort. Just keep in mind that once you’re all naked and getting busy, his mind is already going to be halfway there. So pretty much anything you say he’s going to take as dirty. Like, what’s on your to-do list?

B:  I… well… my kitchen sink has been dripping?

A:  OK. There you go.

B suddenly understands, and experiments with saying phrases as if they’re naughty. She gets more and more into it over the next lines, whipping herself into a frenzy.

B:  Come here baby. Fix my sink.

A:  You’re getting it.

B:  Do you have a big enough wrench to handle my leaky faucet?

A:  See?

B:  Also, Mama needs to get her oil changed.

A:  Sure.

B:  Plus it’s time I checked my air filter.

A:  Ummm….

B:  I’m going to organize your spice rack!

A:  Now mix in something other than chores. Maybe… politics?

B:  (super sexy) Let’s take a look at the exit poll!

A:  Yes.

B:  Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall!

A:  Yes.

B:  I will Barack his Obama!

A:  Do you feel sexy now?

B:  I’m going to fuck him senseless!

Record scratch

A:  You… ?

B:  What? Just as long as I don’t have to say body parts .

Long pause

A: I think you’re going to do fine.

–

Alternative ending:  If you want to avoid the f-bomb just have B run off stage after “Obama,” in excitement shouting out new ones till she’s well off stage:  “Let’s rally to raise some funds!”  “Keep your big government involved in my business and labor!”  “I believe in the effectiveness of your stimulus package!”  And A can murmur to herself, “I think she’ll do fine.”

Camera on? You read– OK. So, um, my name is Jenni. Let’s see… Well, I enjoy sports… I’m a Virgo… I like men who are well dressed. That’s extreeeeemmmely important. If a guy’s a slob, he doesn’t have a chance, but I just melt for a suit and tie. And I like my men tall. Six feet tall, EXACTLY, as a matter of fact. I guess I’m a little OCD. <strained, nervous laughter>

I’ve haven’t had much luck with dating… Gosh, my first boyfriend, was just the love of my life, Trevor. He was six feet, which I like. <embarrassed smile of pleasure at the thought> And he was a stock broker, so that meant suits to work every day. And… this might sound weird, but he sorta smelled like my father. Is that weird? Is that weird that I like that? Anyway, things didn’t work out… Obviously! No ring on this finger!

Ummm, and then of course came Kevin and Manuel and Derek… They were practically exact repeats of my relationship with Trevor. That’s when they label you an actual serial killer, right around your fourth or fifth victim. Oh… did I not mention how my relationships ended? Yeah, usually after a few months dating a guy, if I don’t feel that spark, well, I have to end things. End… him. I probably should have put that out there at the beginning. Really, though, a girl has to look out for herself. There’s nothing worse than you you meet a great guy, and you think he’s just perfect, but soon enough you discover that he’s actually 5 foot eleven and seven-eights, or some bullshit!

But, oh, then there was Jean-Pierre. Mmmm… Jean-Pierre. Exactly six feet, always in Armani. I so wanted things to work out between us. I tried to be good. I did. I’d make him breakfast, and I’d butcher the pets of any other girls who talked to him… My Jean-Pierre. Other than eventually ramming knitting needles into his larynx, I’d say I was a pretty good girlfriend.

There was Steve, who worked at a Men’s Wearhouse, so he’d get a discount on suits, and he was six even. But this one time he wore sweat pants, so I had to break things off. You know… things he needed to live.

And then of course there was my Danny. Oh, Danny, Danny, Danny. My Danny was so sweet. But he wasn’t as into Us as I was. Some guys don’t appreciate a thirtieth or fortieth voicemail in an afternoon. Oh, why didn’t you love me, Daddy? I mean… Danny. Anyway, that relationship didn’t end well. Well, you know. You were there, with the handcuffs and all.

So… There’s your confession tape, detective. By the way… nice suit. How tall are you?

Steve. By now you hevv probably realize that I emm leavink you. I leave for you this tape, because I don’t vant you theenk you deed somethink wronk, or that romance vas fadink for me, or anythink like that. I also don’t vant you think I emm like other Russian internet brides, who marry pathetic rich American and leave him. No. Only reason I emm leavink you, darlink, is because I hevv gathered all intelligence ve need, and henndlers are recallink me to my country. I realize, this probably comes as bit of shock, given our eight years of merriage. I emm dedicated professional, Steve.

Surely, you must hevv suspected somethink. Did you really think voman sexy and talented as me ends up vith dumpy nerd-man like you? Such a think is against natural law. You honestly think I vas likink your model trains? Oh, sveetie… no. No vun is interested in model trains. I know vhat you’re thinkink, right? Jim and Brenda vould come over, and they vould play vith model trains for hours, no? Vell, Jim and Brenda vork for my government, too. Sorry.

As long as I emm comink clean, (suddenly drops accent) I speak perfect English. Oh, and I’m not Russian. They haven’t been spying on you for years. No, I work for the Norwegians. We have a far more extensive intelligence network.

I’m taking Sam and Julie and the baby with me. Sorry about that, but since they have my genes, they are technically considered a government secret. But don’t worry, sweetie. They are almost guaranteed brilliant futures with the Norwegian Intelligence Agency.

Well, I’m off. I’ll always care for you, in my way, but of course I gave my heart long ago to the service of his majesty King Harald. Oh! Honey, I still have a lot of hiding spots around the house. I removed all the microfilm and computer disks, but I didn’t have time to deactivate the booby traps. Maybe don’t reach into anything… or, like, open… On second thought, maybe you’d better just move.

So, yeah, just wanted to say sorry about your whole life being a lie and everything. My bad. I’m sure you’ll find a nice girl and remarry. Maybe lower your expectations, you know, quite a bit. You’ll do fine. Adios. Thanks for all the government secrets.