Dear Dollface-Sample


 (NORMA ANDERSON’s apartment is dimly lighted. NORMA is sitting on her couch, wearing a bathrobe. There is a laptap on the coffee table in front of her, but she is writing in her journal. We hear the sound of DOLLFACE snoring off stage).


It’s a stupefying bore to sit and wait

with nothing to claim my mind,

No fast conversation, just grim aggravation

and snore, snore, snore.

Gerri‑Anne told me she read this book that writing is good therapy.  You’re supposed to write whatever nonsense springs to mind and after a while your words will form an intelligible pattern of clues.  I forgot to ask Gerri‑Anne clues to what.

I snuck silkily out of bed being ever so careful so as not to wake Dollface. Best to let sleeping dicks lie.  If he were awake I wouldn’t be sitting here writing pearls.  No sir, we’d be doing it, which always turns my brain to mashed turnips.  I walk around with a vacant smile on my face as though a couple of orgasms were all I had to accomplish in a twenty‑four day.  It’s a guaranteed fact – if he slips that thing in before I get to my pen and paper, I’m done for.

(The sound of snoring turns into a grunt and a yawn.)                               


Oh, oh, I think the beast is awake. Mashed turnips!  Coming dear!

             (NORMA exits running).

(Lights up on JADE GORMAN’s elegant and tidy livingroom. JADE enters, elegantly dressed, carrying the latest magazines).


When I go shopping I expect a certain kind of clientele in a certain kind of store.  That’s why I never shop at Zellers.  However, I meet everything under the sun at Loblaws.  Oh, I’ve got nothing against Loblaws.  It’s a wonderful grocery store but, my God, some of the people in there try my patience.  There I am, minding my own business, I leave my cart for a few moments and when I get back this old biddy is rifling through my groceries.  She thought the tuna fish was on sale because I bought ten cans.  Then when I get to the checkout, another busybody comments on all the soda water in my cart.  “Are you having a party dear?”   Perhaps I should have commented on the prunes and bran flakes in her cart.  “Are you constipated dear?”  Thank God I stopped myself before she gave me the gory details.

(JADE looks disgustedly at the picture of a movie star in the magazine).

 Does anyone really look like that?  I’ve seen lots of naked bodies at the Y and none of them look like that.  It’s impossible for such a thin woman to have such fat breasts.  I wish silicone had never been invented.  Now, every woman over a B cup is suspect.

Charles said I had the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen.  I was too polite to ask him how many he’d seen at the tender age of eighteen.  Why is it that men expect you to stay beautiful forever while they snore and paunch and fart indiscriminately?

(Lights fade. JADE exits)

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