SEXING THE CITY

(At a table in a bar sit four female friends. Claudia, the narrator/writer; Renee, the prudish art gallery owner; Donna, the no-nonsense lawyer; and Karen, the sex-crazed businesswoman. They are all laughing and drinking Cosmotinis. Claudia addresses the audience.)

Claudia: Four female friends, just like you. Meeting for Cosmotinis at an exclusive New York club, just like you do. Talking and joking and crying and angry-facing about all the things you as a modern lady care passionately at and about and of: guys, shoes and sexing, and how and why and where and when they intersect, or intersex! But suddenly I realized that I couldn’t help but wonder what we’re talking about right now.

Donna: Joe, my slacker boyfriend tells me he wants to try to be a pro basketball player and quit his lucrative busboy career.

Renee: Oh, you should let him! It’s important to follow your dreams and embrace the impossible and chastely kiss the fairytales, like true love with a rich blue-blood American and four-inch heels.

Donna: Renee, you can be so naïve. I work hard throwing law around in courtrooms all day and some nights and I expect my mate to bring home his share of the bacon along with me.

Karen: If by bacon you mean penis and by bring home you mean place inside your vagina I concur wholeheartedly. And by concur wholeheartedly I mean I’m a slut.

Renee: Ew! You always find a way to make everything dirty.

Karen: If by make things dirty you mean 69 with my male secretary, I concur wholeheartedly.

Claudia: Guys, guys, we’re getting off topic here. Should Donna let Joe pursue his basketball fantasy?

Karen: I let a Joe pursue his basketball fantasy once and let me tell you it was a slam dunk. Between my legs!

Donna: That’s what I call a personal foul.

Claudia: Swish!

Karen: Beer and hot dogs euphemism!

Renee: That’s just wrong, making sports about sex. You guys are grossburgers.

Donna: Aaaanyway, I think I have to leave Joe. I’m sure my workaholic success as a lawyer-at-law is a big turn-off.

Claudia: I don’t know. My boyfriend, Mr. Massive and I have come to terms with it.

Renee: How? He’s the richest man in the universe and you’re struggling sex columnist with an incredible apartment. How, how are you two, the two of you, able to reconcile your differences?

Karen: I reconcile my differences with men all the time.

Donna: Let me guess- in the bedroom.

Karen: No, silly, in the butt!

Claudia: To get back to me, me, me, the way we’ve worked around it is I keep him satisfied in the Johnsonian region and he keeps me satisfied in the closet.

Karen: If by in the closet you mean in the butt, I concur wholeheartedly.

Renee: Ew, my dainty demeanor! You’re going to shatter it like a glass menagerie of missionary positions!

Claudia: By in the closet, I mean shoes.

Renee: Shoes! Shoes!

Donna: Shoes, shoes.

Claudia: Shoes, shoes, shoes!

Donna: Shoes. Shoes shoes shoes.

Renee: Shoes! Shoes! Shoes!

Claudia: Shoesy shoesy shoo shoo shoes.

Karen: Shoes shoes shoes shoes shoes… in the butt.

Donna: You mean thongs?

Renee: You guys, be serious for more than one-halfth of a second. What Claudia has is precious and pure like a sweet, well-bred virgin pony, and Donna you should aspire to that preciosity and purification.

Claudia: It’s not that pure. Mr. Massive makes me wear a Michael Myer’s mask and call him grandson when we do it and likes to videotape me pooping.

Donna: Wow! That’s not okay.

Karen: I do not concur wholeheartedly with that, and I’ll concur wholeheartedly to anything.

Renee: I think you just made me go blind.

Claudia: (To audience.) And then I suddenly realized that no one should go through that humiliation, no matter how rich their boyfriend is.

Renee: Cute shoes!

Claudia: Guys, I’m back together with Massive!

Karen: If by back together with Massive, you mean-

Donna: I’m gonna stop you right there, Karen. She doesn’t mean that.

Claudia: God, you guys, we sound like all women, don’t we?