More of that one play.

Who knows if this will go anywhere, but here's some more of it.

MAN. No. I just can’t imagine it really working. Two strangers get together, have a big celebration, throw jewelry on, and then mush their entire lives into one? In-laws and husbands’ friends and couples tennis matches and matching armchairs?

WOMAN. Some people take solace in partnership, I’m sure that’s not too hairy a concept for you.

MAN. Define hairy.

WOMAN. Vaudeville voice. You should see my legs. Yakketty shmakketty doo~!

MAN. Partnership and safety are different things. Reality is inherently unsafe.

WOMAN. Really? Pause. Really? Have you been through reality? All of it? Stood at life’s tasting bar and sipped ounce glasses of joy and sorrow? Pain? Ecstasy? Loss? Spit it out and analyze the flavors for yourself?

MAN. So now you’re metaphoring.

WOMAN. You like it? I made it myself.

MAN. Very pretty.

WOMAN. Thanks, I exfoliate. Oh, fuck-- Darts into the kitchen, then speaks from offstage. Actually, that’s not bad--I think it’s a good representation of--Shit! Ahh--fuck!

MAN. You alright?

Pause.

WOMAN. Off. Fucking shit fuck!

MAN. Oh! Man! Hold on--

The man dashes into the kitchen. We hear a freezer door open and a bag of frozen vegetables removed.

MAN. Off. Here, hold this.

WOMAN. Off. God fucking dammit--

MAN. Off. You alright?

WOMAN. Off. No.

MAN. Off. You’ll live.

WOMAN. Off. Fucking handle, for fuck’s sake.

MAN. Off. Hold it. Keep holding it. Pause. Is your metaphor okay?

WOMAN. Off. Fuck you.

We hear a few pans move about, then eggs begin to sizzle audibly.

MAN. Off. Why don’t I take over?

WOMAN. Off. Good, I was going to make you anyway. The woman walks on, clutching a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel in her right hand. Now and again, she looks at it and shakes her head.

MAN. Off. So, tasting bar?

WOMAN. You’re wrong about marriage. It turns all…weird when you talk about it. Then again, everything turns weird when you talk about it.

MAN. Off. Thanks, I exfoliate.

WOMAN. I think you’re more basic than you think. Or maybe you’re afraid you’re more basic than you think.

MAN. Off. Maybe.

WOMAN. You grow up with fantasy, books that tell you to take a chance, kiss a frog. Now we walk around disappointed because there are fewer unicorns than we were promised. I’ve never even ridden a horse.

MAN. Off. Me neither. How do you want these eggs?

WOMAN. Whatever.

MAN. Off. Weren’t you gung-ho about this a minute ago?

WOMAN. Scrambled then.

MAN. Off. I can make them ‘over whatever’ if you want. ‘Whatever side up‘.

WOMAN. Don’t tease me, I’m crippled. When does that change happen, you think?

MAN. Off. What change?

WOMAN. Wonder to disappointment.

MAN. Off. I’ve wondered that myself.

Pause.

WOMAN. Settling is okay, right? It’s a way to do it.

MAN. Off. Like marriage.

WOMAN. Oh, shut up.

MAN. Stepping into the room. We all die single. Marriage doesn’t change our biology. Saying a thing, having a party, eating some cake, wearing some metal--dissect it all and pin it down. They’re breeds of butterflies that we make a pattern out of and call ‘marriage’. It’s all so-- He does the Woman’s earlier gesture for how he was acting. You get that. Right?

WOMAN. I think you’re wrong.

MAN. Well that’s fine.

WOMAN. Oh my God, don’t be smug. I’ve let you be weird, but don’t be smug. Go cook the fucking eggs.

MAN. Will you make the fucking pancakes?

WOMAN. Fuck yeah, I will.

MAN. Al-fucking-right.

The man walks back into the kitchen.

WOMAN. I’m starting to see how the snow globe thing happened.