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Monologue: A Southern Gentleman Talks Us Through Women and Hair Care

"A Southern Gentleman Talks Us Through Women and Hair Care"
By Geoffrey Golden
A kindly, older-looking SOUTHERN GENTLEMEN fans himself with his large hat as he talks to the audience from upper stage left.

Now, I'm no betting man, you hear. But if I were, I'd put my money on the inherent differences between men and women. It's like me and my wife are from two different planets, the way we think. She's from Venus and I'm from Earth. Ha ha. Seriously though, folks, let me tell you about one episode we had that was instrumental in highlighting our differences.

Behind the GENTLEMAN, off stage right, is the same MAN in a large hat, looking at a table with ten shampoo bottles on it, in different sizes and colors.

You see, one day I noticed my wife had all these shampoos in the bathroom.

The WIFE enters and the two pantomime talking as his monologue queues them.

So I said to her, why are we spending all the money I earn at the cockfights on your hair. To which she replied that her hair would be uglier than a K-Mart if she didn't use all her shampoos. My male brain told me to call her on it, so I made her a bet. If she could prove that she needed every single hair thing she owned, I'd do the damn dishes for one week. If she couldn't prove it, she'd have to try lesbian sex, just like on "Friends." She agreed.

They shake hands.

At first she tried to lure me in with strange, new words like "de-tangler" and "spray," but my male brain told me those were just code words for "lying," so I had her explain each product by itself. The first two were shampoo and conditioner for cleaning and refreshing her hair and hair color, followed by hair spray to keep the hair in-place, hold spray to control "flyaways," blow silk--

The GENTLEMAN smacks his WIFE.

Which is not as lascivious a product as I originally thought. Paste for defining hair, leave in conditioner for nourishing dry or damaged hair, blow serum--

The GENTLEMAN smacks his WIFE twice more.

Which I did not want to hear about, de-tangler for smoothing out hair, and finally, something called "material" which, I'm not making this up fellow gentlemen, is "pliable material for matte finishes." Well men, my wife looked so uppity standing there, having justified her costly habit.

WIFE hands GENTLEMAN a dish-towel.

She even had the nerve to hand me a rag, expecting me to keep my end of the bargain. But as she droned on about "lemon-fresh" this and "I'm a woman" that, [pointing to his head] my keen, male brain kept working on the puzzle, until I finally got it!

GENTLEMAN throws down the towel and starts pointing at the bottle.

Your hair spray and hold spray both keep the hair where it is. De-tangler smooths hair and paste defines hair, but how's paste gonna define hair as? Rough? No, they both make hair smooth. Conditioner. Leave-in conditioner. Same thing.

The WIFE is ready to point out a specific bottle, but the GENTLEMAN takes his hand out, ready to strike. WIFE curls up in fear.

If you mention blow jobs in this house again, I'll kill you! I swear to God and Jesus I'll kill you, you stupid bitch.


GENTLEMAN puts his hand down and the wife gets up cautiously.

Leaving the "material," whose description makes no sense, which means we must assume that it will negate the effects of the shampoo and all the other products. Therefore, not only does she not need these shampoos, I proved, but they are in fact doing nothing for her hair when combined. Oh boys, you should have seen me.

GENTLEMAN starts parading around.

What a victory! Not just for me, but for the entire male race, as I paraded around the house chanting "hooray," "bravo," and "lesbo action, here I come!" Ah, but alas, like the woman snake she was, she used her female trickery and natural instincts to connive to her advantage, and she pulled out a small bottle from behind the others.

WIFE pulls out a small, red shampoo.

This shampoo, she claimed, gave her hair its strawberry scent. If I were right, she connived, and that material stuff canceled everything, then her hair wouldn't smell like strawberries, which it does.

The GENTLEMAN hangs his head in shame.

And so you see, fellow men, that is why I'm here today.

From off-stage, the GENTLEMAN pulls out a dish and a rag, and begins wiping.

A gentleman is only as good as his word. But we men have the last laugh, for you see, I have peed in the dishwasher, so all our dishes will smell like urine. Take that, Venus monsters! Hooray for men! Hooray for us!

The spotlight closes on the GENTLEMAN.
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