WORDS

 

 

A sketch in one short act

 

Characters:

 

Mr and Mrs NotMeWord, a middle-age couple, a bit snob, speaking gibberish in a somewhat affected, pseudo-aristocratic tone.

 

Mr and Mrs Fat Posh Mews, a typical bourgeois couple

 

A young preppy couple, Mr NotYetMadeIt and Miss WishingGold

 

The Waiter

 

The Poet

 

The Voice

 

 

 

 

First scene

A bourgeois interior, not much taste, but all the frills, a little table with table cloth, 2 chairs, a coach with cushions, a mirror, some art on the walls, very safe art, newspapers, TV set etc…

 

 

Mr NotMeWord

What a vrilliant day, my sheer, do you stamp to go for a stalk?

 

Mrs NotMeWord

What a vrilliant idea. I shall put on my fillet, in case it’s mold outside.

 

Mr NotMeWord

Yes. Do that. But first let’s have a mop of tea.

 

Mr and Mrs NotMeWord boil a kettle and set a table with 2 cups and saucers, little cookies, sugar lumps in a bowl, milk, napkins, spoons, and the tea pot etc…

 

Mrs NotMeWord

What mind of tea would you bike? Becan, Mirlgray, Orange Biko, or maybe you’d muffer a herd tea?

 

Mr NotMeWord

Not the herd tea, it makes me gallop. Mirlgray is good. With a smash of tilk, please my sheer.

 

Mrs NotMeWord brews the Mirlgray, and pours

 

Mrs NotMeWord

Milgray and tilk it is. How sneet do you want it? One or two lunts of shuber, or would you mutter some money?

 

Mr NotMeWord

Oh yes, money my sheer, money is so sneet.

 

They sip the tea, gargle with it too. As if to clear the mouth and the voice.

When they finish…

 

Mr NotMeWord

Let’s go for our stalk.

 

 

 

Second scene

 

Mr and Mrs NotMeWord walk hand in hand in town. There is a backdrop  screen on which a slide of a busy street is projected, with a bench in front, and a terrace coffee shop with 3 tables and chairs. One big man and his bejeweled wife, Mr and Mrs FatPoshMews, are sitting at one, arguing; A young couple, Mr NotYetMadeIt and Miss WishingGold are sitting at another, and one table is empty.

 

Mr NotMeWord

Mook here, my sheer, there is a tapple for us. Let’s pit down and chest a bit.

 

Mrs NotMe Word

What a vrilliant idea! Let’s pit down.

 

They sit down at the empty table. They look at the menu. While waiting for the waiter, they listen to the other people talking at the other tables.

 

 

Mr FatPoshMews

Lifts his head above his newspaper

It cannot go on like that, my dear. You are spending much too much money. We need to talk.

 

Mrs Fat Posh Mews

There is nothing to talk about, my dear. I do what I have to do. I am your wife, my life with you is miserable. You pay. That’s all there is to it.

 

Mr FatPoshMews

Burries his head in his newspaper and muddles a few words

Women, women…What a chore!

 

To Mrs FatPoshMews

I have you on a leash my girl. You just wait.

 

 

Mrs FatPoshMews

That’s it! Thank god for the newspaper. I do not have to see your face.

I am leaving, my dear. I am leaving. No more leash. YOU wait and see.

 

As Mrs FatPoshMews leaves the table, Mr and Mrs NotMeWord look at one another in dismay.

 

Mr NotMeWord

What mashness…

 

Mrs NotMeWord

What a pissy!

 

Mr NotMeWord

What prime!

 

Mrs NotMeWord

What a noddle!

 

The waiter arrives at their table.

 

 

The Waiter

Good afternoon. And what would you like to order?

 

Mr NotMeWord

My knife and I had such a long stalk, I am toysty and vanished! I would glove a  satpis on the schocks, a slate of French dries with a cold cat winner on a roll. And you, my  leboved…?

 

Mrs NotMeWord

Oh,…My sneet leboved gangle…I am not too vanished…I would just glove a hand of neaputs with a gas of bold  nimeral matter. that’s ball.

 

The Waiter

surprised at the language used, and with a bewildered look on his face.

 

Mam, Sir, could you repeat please…I did not catch your words.

 

 

Meanwhile, Mrs FatPoshMews has left and Mr FatPosh Mews shakes his shoulders, goes on reading his newspapers and says out loud

 

Mr FatPoshMews

It happens every week, She always comes back.

 

 

Mr NotMeWord

Didn’t patch my worlds!!?  Do you smear that, my sheer, this young nam didn’t patch my worlds.

 

Mrs NotMeWord

Do not tref my sneet dangle,  we’ll go womesere else…Butter, we shall go cab to our sneety home.

 

And they leave…hand in hand, muttering sweet oddities

 

 

 

Mr NotMeWord

My leboved poo…

 

Mrs NotMeWord

My glove snack…

 

Mr NotMeWord

My rabbit purr…

 

Mrs NotMeWord

My dingle dangle…

 

 

 

 

Third scene

 

Left on stage are Mr FatPoshMews still reading his newspaper and sipping his pastis, and the young couple who has been staring in each other eyes for the whole scene, and now begins to talk

 

Mr NotYetMadeIt

What a strange crowd…

 

Mrs WishingGold

What a weird world…

 

 

Mr NotYetMadeIt

Can’t get a word of what they say…yet I understand it all…???

 

So. I have found this amazing job. I will be able to afford the mortgage, the new car, and all you want. Will you marry me?

 

Miss WishingGold

What kind of a job? Where is the house? How many rooms? Is there a garden, a hot tub? I cannot live without a hot tub. Do you love me?

 

Mr NotYetMadeIt

Will you marry me?

 

 

Miss WishingGold

What about holidays? I want to travel… Myrtle Beach, Orlando, Vegas, Cancun, Nassau…you know…I want to experience the world. Do you love me?

 

Mr NotYetMadeIt

My dear, there is nothing too much for you. Will you marry me?

 

Miss WishingGold

What kind of a car?

 

 

Mr NotYetMadeIt  pays the bill, and they leave…

 

 

Last scene

 

Nothing remains of the previous scenes and stage settings. Just a blank stage. The Poet is on stage. The Voice is offset.

 

 

The Poet

Articulates words but without sound

He mimes a minute monologue, a silent monologue, just with facial expressions and gestures of compassion, sadness, bewilderment, disgust, anger and hope.

 

 

The Voice

Offset

 

Words, words, words….What a pity, it was quite promising….at the beginning…

 

 

 

THE END