Provocations: 1

Him: I’m waiting.

Her: Yes.

Him: You know I loathe being late, only yesterday I was –

Her: Telling me –

Him: How Imogen was always late. Always. You promised –

Her: I wouldn’t be late. And I’m not. We’re not late –

Him: Yet. We will be if you don’t get a move on. Do get a move on. It doesn’t look good, not good at all. I know it’s become something of a tradition, but it seems to me –

Her: We’re not late.

Him: Yet. These are new shoes, you know.

Her: I do. Know. You told me. Yesterday. When you were talking about Imogen –

Him: Always being late. Always. And how thankful I am that you’re not –

Her: Imogen. Or Greta.

Him: Ah Greta, she was a different matter entirely. It wasn’t lateness with Greta.

Her: No?

Him: No. Rather an over-eagerness. It was not elegant. Greta was too much like a young girl. Or a puppy.

Her: I like puppies.

Him: I don’t. I don’t like puppies or lateness. I do like –

Her: Me?

Him: Yes. I like you. I love you. Of course I love you, I wouldn’t be –

Her: I’d hope not. Still… nice shoes.

Him: They’re new.

Her: You said.

Him: It’s all new.

Her: Is it?

Him: Suit, tie, shirt, socks, shoes.

Her: Underwear?

Him: Sorry?

Her: Your underwear. Pants. Boxers. Shorts. Whatever you call them. Are they new?

Him: Oh. No. They’re not as a matter of fact. But they are clean, if that’s what you’re worried about, if that’s what you mean, I wouldn’t –

Her: I know that.

Him: You do?

Her: Yes.

Him: You’re sure?

Her: Yes. Really.

Him: Good. So. Are we ready? Are you ready?

Her: Ah, no. I’m not. No.

Him: What?

Her: I haven’t a thing to wear.

© Stella Duffy 2010