I wrote this a few months back when I was taking writing classes with The Second City. I’m surprised that I still don’t completely hate it.
Patricia-30’s, petite, employee
Marge-40’s, bulky woman
Frank-late 40’s, overweight, balding
Chuck-late 40’s, slightly overweight
(Lingerie shop in the middle of a busy shopping mall. Patrons walking in an out.)
(To customers moving in and out of store)
Hi! How are you doin’ today? Need a bra fitting?
(Rejected by customer)
No problem! If you need any help, my name is Patricia.
Hi Ma’am! How may I help you today?
Yes, thank you. I’m looking to buy a new bra for my husband.
Oh, perfect! Do you know what size? What does he like?
We need to be measured again.
(Turns head away from Patricia, screams)
(Frank waddles over.)
Lift up your arms for the woman, Frank.
(Frank sighs, lifts up arms, exposes belly. Marge moves away, browses around store.)
Hey there, Frank! I’m Patricia.
(Wraps tape measure around Frank’s bust, notes measurements.)
Have you been measured before?
Uh, few years ago.
I can tell! (Giggles.) The bra you’re wearing doesn’t look too comfortable! Let’s get you out of that one and into something that fits your fuller bust.
(Glances around store, trying to find a bra for Frank to try on.)
Hm…Now Frank, do you prefer fuller coverage or plunge?
(Opens up more, less shy.)
You know, Patricia, I really like a little support. When I’m bending over to get the remote, I don’t want to be you know…falling out everywhere. I want some tasteful but still playful.
Great! Here we have this style. (Guides Frank to rack of bras.) We’ve got a new line with little footballs on them, this one has cars, and this one even has Ron White’s face on it!
I’ll try that one on.
(Points. Takes car patterned bra to dressing room. Patricia waits in lobby of store. Frank tries on bra, walks out of room to examine in bigger mirrors.)
(Chuck walks out of dressing room, Frank has back towards Chuck.)
That you, Frank?
(Frank turns around.)
Oh, hey Chuck.
Marge got you here?
(Sighs. Looks back in mirror, looking at bra in different angles.)
Claudia doesn’t know I’m here, thought I’d surprise her with something special when she got home. Check out this one. Imagine me in this little number. (Holds up rhinestone studded bra.) Nice, huh?
Yeah, I guess.
What’s wrong, bud?
(Ad lib Chuck, “Oh come on”, “What is it?” etc.)
Well, it just seems a little silly. We spend all this money and time in buying new bras with cutesy little patterns on
them, rhinestones, and the whole she-bang, and it’s not like our wives even care about them. They don’t think about how long we spent trying to pick something special out for them. They just want what’s underneath.
Well, yeah. I mean the man’s breasts are the most egregious part of the body.
Erogenous. And I don’t mean that, but I mean it shouldn’t matter what I’m wearing. I want my wife to think I’m sexy for me.
Yeah well, you can thank the media for that one, pal. I for one, like buying something sexy for Claudia to see me in.
I don’t know. The standards for men are just outrageous these days! You see the men on the Victor’s Whispers commercials. No regular guy looks like that! Ripped abs, hairless body, diamond studded bra! Women just don’t understand what us men have to go through!
(Both turn back to go into their dressing rooms. Frank gets dressed. Comes back out and looks at self in large mirrors. Chuck stays in room, pokes head out.)
I wouldn’t worry about it, Frank. Marge loves you. At least you have a wife that doesn’t sit there with George Clooney posters all over the bedroom while you’re trying to make love to her! I can’t compare to him! So I don’t, and you shouldn’t either Frank.
Yeah, you know what Chuck, you’re right. I’m a good guy! I’m a great catch! They can keep their George Clooney’s and that soccer player guy, Devin Barkham or whatever. I’m great just being me!
(Tosses bra at Chuck’s face. Struts out of dressing room.)
Hm. (Shrugs. Quiet to self.) Go get her, Frankie.
(Walks out of dressing room in matching bra and thong. Ass facing audience as looks in mirror.)
Now you, sir, are one hot ticket. (Winks to self in mirror.)