Confession is Nine-Tenths of the Flaw

Confession is Nine-Tenths of the Flaw

Author’s note: Script embedded like this {means only the audience can hear this} and the other actors cannot.

The Players

Lonely Girl, she’s lonely.

Tommy, he’s the waiter and he’s uninterested.

Richard, date number one.

Secret Crush, date number two.

[Behind the scenes: Lighting technicians, who are the best in the business check the soft and hard lights. Lonely Girl never knows which light will shine on her.]

[Act 1

Scene 1. Lonely Girl’s Apartment. She’s in bed, just rising from an afternoon slumber. The scene is set. Somewhere off in the distance, a dog barks wildly. It’s not her dog, so she tunes it out. Sirens wail, tires squeal, horns honk. Workaday props litter the stage: books, reading glasses, piles of clothing, coffee mugs.

Cue lonely, pathetic girl.]

Lonely Girl. Confession One: Dear audience, that’s me. I’m a lonely girl, but I’d hardly say I’m pathetic.

Remember the movie Groundhog Day, where that guy Phil Connors was forced to live the same day over and over? Yeah, that’s my dating life. My Groundhog Day was dumped into a blender with one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books. This puree is an all-you-can-eat buffet for anyone hungry. Sit at my table, you will always feast on a meal of too many confessions, served with a generous side of self-depreciation. I will even light candles for you, dear audience because I’m a romantic at heart.

Every date starts the same way, with so much preparation, so much promise, so much positive self-talk. Anyone would be lucky to have me in their life. I’m kind, honest, intelligent, and strong. I’ll meet someone one day who will appreciate those qualities in me.

[She rises from her afternoon nap nude, it’s all hanging out for the audience to see. She leaves the room and strides to the bathroom with a familiar purpose. This room is staged too. She turns the water on and steps into the shower.]

Lonely Girl. Maybe this evening will be the start of something wonderful. Everyone deserves to be happy, don’t they? Confession Two: Dear audience, I don’t believe I’m everyone, I don’t believe I deserve to be happy.

[She takes a long shower, washing the only parts of her that matter to most men twice. She wants to be fresh. Her life feels like the set of a high tragedy/romantic comedy. She turns the water off, steps out of the shower, and wraps a towel around herself.]

Lonely Girl. I’ve lost five pounds just for him. Confession Three: I’ve probably only lost a couple. I will try to be more truthful with you, dear audience.

[She wipes the mirror and takes a critical look. She doesn’t recognize herself anymore.]

Lonely Girl. I look like an old slipper the aforementioned barking dog has wrestled with. I’m frayed, and my soul is full of holes.

[Cue that damn hard lighting now.]

Lonely Girl. I should just cancel, I haven’t lost enough weight, haven’t slept enough, I’m not tall enough, and I live on the wrong side of the bridge. Those last two, a man from a dating app told me. “Grant” was a real piece of work. He flooded my inbox with rantings on how women are all the same, how shallow we are, how all we care about are looks, and money. Despite how much older he was, and what I thought about his photos, I was too classy to comment on his appearance, or how much money he makes. Confession Four: I’m jaded. I know, it comes as a terrible shock to you, dear audience. I will give you a moment to digest the news.

I have given myself a few hours to get ready. I‘ve left the main details up to him, where and when we will meet.

[She blow-dries and straightens her hair, taking extra time in putting on her makeup. She even applies mascara. She paints her toenails with dark nail polish.]

Lonely Girl. I think dark nail polish screams that I’m confident and fun. Confession Five: That’s a lie. A previous match texted me, and this is a direct quote, “Don’t forget to shave. Lol, I like dark-color nail polish. Also, like a woman with a pedicure in heels. 😀 Oh, and no hairspray or strong perfume.” When men dictate like that, and I listen, I buy into the notion that my authentic self is somehow inadequate. So why am I using part of a previous man’s instructions to influence me this evening? Sadly, I still care what men think and that frustrates me.

[Cue the soft lighting. In the mirror the transformation is dramatic. She smiles. She tries on half a dozen outfits, finally settling on one.]

Lonely Girl. Bingo, my go-to little black dress with cold shoulders. It hugs my hips just so. Now I look the part of a confident, capable woman. I am all that and a bag of chips. All-dressed...no Doritos. I swear I’m going to devour an entire bag after this date.

[The curtains close and a brief intermission takes place to prepare the stage for Act 2, Scenes 1 and 2.]

[Act 2

Scene 1. Scenes from some Italian Restaurant.

She arrives at the restaurant about twenty minutes early. As she walks through the door, out of nowhere, a gust of wind picks up, catching her dress, and slamming the door behind her. She's trapped. The fabric pulls extra tight, showcasing that extra nine pounds of belly she didn’t feel the inspiration to lose. Cue that damn hard light again, and it looks to be more like ten pounds. Her confidence starts to wane.] Confession six: I don’t have much confidence left, it flew out the window when a previous ex packed his bags in the middle of the night and left me a sobbing pile by the front door.

Waiter. Table for one?

[Seriously? How many women who look as smashing as she does are dining alone?]

Lonely Girl. Two. My date should be here soon.

[Tommy moves toward a table by the window and she follows. As she sits down her knee bumps into the table.

Somewhere in the middle of her musing about how graceful she is (snort, you must be rolling your eyes by now oh smart audience, for she is transparent), her date manages to slip past the window undetected.]

If you, dear audience, choose date number one to lead the scene, and the stage, turn to page 3.

If you, dear audience choose Lonely Girl and date number two to share the scene, and the stage, turn to page 4.

You, dear audience turn to page 3, eager to see date number one lead the scene, and the stage.

[She closes her eyes, and when she opens them, like magic (cue the smokescreen, poof) he appears, smiling at her from across the table. To Lonely Girl he easily looks a decade older than his photos, and perhaps 20 pounds heavier and a foot shorter. But she’s not all women, and she’s not shallow, as “Grant” proclaimed. Maybe this one is a decent guy. She will give him a chance and see how it goes. A hard light shines on him.]

Richard. I see I’m overdressed for the occasion.

[Is that a shot at Lonely Girl’s cute little black dress with cold shoulders, which makes her look pulchritudinous?]

Richard. That’s okay. I’m used to it.

[What is he insinuating?]

Richard. When you make as much money as I do, you’re always dressing up, you know.

[Ah, so that’s what he’s referring to, his worth, or in other words, Lonely Girl’s lack thereof. Mind you, she lives in a small apartment, but he doesn’t know that, he’s never been to her place.

Lonely Girl orders a glass of house wine and wishes there was a way to tactfully end this. To her disappointment, he is ad-libbing, and has already insulted her.]

Richard. I drove by your apartment today.

[That’s massively creepy. There’s an awkward silence.]

Richard. Don’t look so puzzled. I looked you up in the phone book, found there are only two of you living in the city so I drove by both addresses and saw the red station wagon you said you drive parked at the second one.

[Why is he telling her this? He’s making her uncomfortable.]

Richard. You really ought to close your curtains. Anyone can just...I’m harmless, you can trust me, doll.

[Does he realize how invasive his statements are and how his stalker tendencies make her fear for her safety? He kicks her under the table. There’s an awkward pause. Even the audience is frozen. He kicks her again and she gets the hint. It’s her line. She awkwardly tries to figure out where they are in the script. Thanks to his going off script, she’s lost.

Backstage there’s commotion, then the shifting of curtains. The spotlight on him quickly goes out.

The curtains close.]

To read the conclusion, turn to page 5.

Page 5

Conclusion:

Lonely Girl. When men tell me I can trust them, alarm bells go off. Trust is earned, not given to just anyone. This date was a disappointment and does not call for a second. I keep my curtains closed now.

After that scene, dear audience, some of you are starting to feel a connection with Lonely Girl, and some of you are starting to feel sorry for her. You want her to feel safe again.

You, dear audience turn to page 4, eager to see Lonely Girl and date number two share the scene and the stage.

Page 4

[Scene 2

The curtains open. Her eyes are closed, and when she opens them, like magic (no smokescreen) he appears, smiling at her from across the table. The soft light shines on them.

They didn’t meet on any dating app.

They’re friends.

His name is…]

{Confession Seven: I can’t reveal his name, he’s been my secret crush for many years. Sorry, trusted audience.}

[His light blue eyes gaze intently into hers.

He makes her feel safe.

Grounds her.

Softens her.

Her body tingles all over.

Electrifying.

She blushes.

The moment stretches.

Her mind races, questions come fast and hard.

Is this the beginning of us?

Or is this just for tonight?

Her soul is quiet for the first time in perhaps her entire life.

She craves so badly to hear his thoughts.

Her heart beats madly, surely he can hear it. That’s okay, she trusts him.

Her mouth goes dry.

She takes a sip from the glass of Merlot that is now mysteriously in her hand.

To her surprise, it’s not a prop, it’s the real deal, and it’s delicious.

This is wildly off-script.

Still thirsty, she takes another mouthful.

They carry on with the rest of the date in hushed conversations which cannot be heard. The audience has the exclusive advantage of observing the things they do not say, their stolen glances, smiles, body language, and their intimate touch.

This is a dream date.]

Lonely Girl. Confession Eight: I’m ready for love. I hope it’s with Secret Crush, and if it is he won’t care about which parts I wash in the shower twice, my height, which side of the bridge I live on, pedicures, nail polish, heels, hair, makeup.

To read the conclusion, turn to page 6.

Page 6

Conclusion:

Lonely Girl. Confession Nine: Secret Crush and I are still together. In Groundhog Day fashion, we relive our dream date monthly and it’s refreshing. He tells me I look “smashing” in my “cute little black dress with cold shoulders”, which he says makes me look “pulchritudinous”. Over a glass of Merlot, he tells me I’m wonderful, that he loves my huge heart, and how kind, honest, intelligent, strong, smart, and affectionate I am. We’re ready to choose our own adventures. As for that last tenth of the flaw? I can’t find it.

The Beginning.