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| A suggested staging... |
Dialogue: Quitting Smoking
HE: I do however miss smoking.
SHE: What did finally make you quit? You were always so ... devout about it.
HE: Well it certainly wasn't all the medical nonsense. That had been around for years - decades! - and I'd never really deep down much cared. For one thing, I am of course invulnerable -
SHE: Yes, one bout of cancer, two heart attacks and four clogged heart arteries later - you've never had three of anything dangerous have you?
HE: Marriages, if I do it again.
SHE: I meant medically dangerous.
HE: So did I.
SHE: Surely you can't blame me or Rosanne -HE: Roxanne -
SHE: - one of those - for your medical issues? At least share some of the blame with your nightly gargle of gin, a dinner plate where the fat and the salt battle it out for taste supremacy, and a mindset that honestly believes that carrying a garbage bag thirty feet to the curb qualifies as exercise.
HE: Two words.
SHE: Hm?
HE: Causus. Belli. My flaws were thrust upon me by an ungrateful world. Madame, I stand before you a tremulous victim of woman's cruel hand.
SHE: Oh dry up.
HE: Shan't. I use moisturizer.
SHE: You don't. I know you. You bought moisturizer and in your mind that's the same as using it.
HE: (howls with the laughter of self-knowledge, extended) By God, I do do that don't I? That's very good. Yes, very good. I'll give you that one.
SHE: No thank you, I've already taken it. But despite all the bravado mixed with craven self-victimization, you quit smoking. Why?
HE: They banned it on the stage!
SHE: (quietly) What? (loudly) What!?HE: Well look at it! You can have live sex with porpoises on stage if you have a big enough tank and no one would care, but light a cigarette and dear God elderly women start fainting like each one lit is an amputated burning penis being sucked on by an actor.
SHE: What a disgusting metaphor.
HE: Yes ... perhaps I should sell it to the Cancer people? Anyway, if something's so bad that it's bad on stage then it really must be bad for you. So I quit. Easy as that.
SHE: So how many a day are you still sneaking - the 'occasional' smaoke?
HE: Six. Never more than ten. You?
SHE: Four. Never more than eight.
HE: Your moral strength is an example to us all.
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