ALLEN (to the audience)
Dayna, we have no more time for YOU,
we need to talk about me!
Anders will be here, at the house, in five.
And I need your help. How do I let him down easily?
No, I know, I know we’ve only seen each other twice,
and spoke on the phone once,
but I’ve got to call it off.
I must break up with him or I’ll die!
He is nice, good looking, well-built, but he can’t spell.
Every text is full of errors.
I text him: what time are we meeting?
He texts: U. L. M. K. YOLO.
Yo-Lo? Is that like J Lo’s ugly cousin?
His bad grammar isn’t why I’m calling it off.
He’s a priest of pain!
He wants to exercise away my flab!
He’s an exERcist! An ex–er–cist!
He comes over, dragging from his previous client,
swinging his kettle BELLS left and right,
in and out between his legs,
and we get at it.
Always on the back porch. In the fresh air.
He says, “Ve need to feel nature! Cavemen did it. Ve can too, can’t ve.”
He’s an exercist, I tell you!
He sits me down, an hour every other day!
and we go over my last few days.
“Did VE drink eight glasses of water, or only seven?”
Who drinks eight!?
Imagine a caveman carrying a purple thermos,
and counting how much water he drank?
“Did VE take the stairs or the elevator?”
Who takes the stairs to the 11th floor!?
Only Cavemen take stairs!
They wouldn’t do an elevator.
They wouldn’t know HOW to DO an elevator!
Did I tell you?
Anders insists bare feet are better for us.
He read it in some exercise magazine.
So, Anders insists I run everywhere in my bare feet.
In the house. On the sidewalk. Even in Safeway!
while waiting at the butchers to give me bacon!
Who knew Safeway had such cold floors!
OH, bare feet.
I hate my feet. I hate your feet!
Okay, not your feet, but feet in general.
It’s why we invented socks!
They’re hoodies for feet. Cover them up!
See, Anders and I don’t agree.
If fitness is a sacred cow,
Then I’m the butcher!
Fire up the grill!
I want to eat a greasy burger and fries
in my stocking feet!
Oh, I have to call this off.
I want to wear socks and shoes again!
I know, I could, but…
He makes me feel bad. I tell him, “Anders, I wore shoes to work.”
“Vaht!? Do VE think Mother Nature vants us vearing shoes? Isn’t that why grass is so soft?”
Grass is soft, until you step on a golf ball
and break your ankle!
Oh, he has this way of making me feel bad for taking naps.
And I love naps. A quickie in my office chair.
The power nap on the couch. Just give me one nano-nap after lunch.
Who doesn’t love a micro-nap during a Web-Ex meeting! LOOoooOOVE IT! OH– And on the weekend! To rock like a baby in my hammock! Wrapped in my hammock womb! That’s living!
But Anders—Nooooo. He won’t have it.
He’s A nap. Assassin!
I’m not saying, he’s not nice.
He is. Handsome. Muscular.
What any blonde Nordic caveman
would look like if he survived the Ice Age
and lived in Phoenix. A god—
But I can’t be with him—
I can’t do it.
The way he looks at me.
I can see it in his very chill icy blue eyes.
The judgement on how I’m so unnaturally lazy.
BUT, Dayna, dear.
I’m doing what we evolved to do—
save energy for the fun things.
Like two martinis,
with some Jacques Pépin foie gras,
a cream sauce over a bed of noodles
Lifting kettle bells is NOT what I evolved to do.
Doing sit ups? Sit-up? I’d rather roll over!
He thinks his brutal cross-training workouts
bring me closer to the brawny body of Neanderthals!?
Have you seen a Neanderthal?
Except for your husband?
They went extinct for a reason!
Nature! I am nature’s answer!
There’s a natural reason I don’t run faster than a hippo!!
Well, there must be a reason.
No, I’m putting my slippered foot down.
No. More. Personal Trainer!
I’m firing Anders! I am!
Oh shit. He’s here!
Maybe if I hide, he’ll go away.
Where does one hide in a kitchen!
Shit! If I could only fit in the pantry!
Oooooh! He’s seen me!
(Waves to Anders.)
Hey, Anders! Be right there!
(Seeing something.) Oh! How nice!
(Back to Dayna.) He’s brought me a smoothie. Orange-Strawberry.
I guess I can try one and a half more sessions.
Maybe two. I did pay for the month.
(Dismissive) Gotta go, Dayna.
Next time you see me, I’ll be extinct.
Part of me’ll be missing.
Maybe I’ll be wearing a loin cloth and lion print.
(WAVE TO ANDERS. ALLEN exits. Light out. End of play.)
2 thoughts on “Real Man, Real Risk”
I love this!!! Now I want to write one of my own, but that would be so awkward- “Oh look- she’s copying Kirt’s brilliant post!”
On Second thought – Maybe I will anyway…it would be the perfect RISK – which is this week’s topic! Thanks for the inspiration!!!!
Thank you, Ann. Taking risk with form and subject is challenging. I thought, well, what scares me the most in my teaching? Being open about our lives, self-disclosure, humor, and taking a chance to fail.