Stupid Susan/Sensible Susan

A Nervous Breakdown for Christmas

(A duologue)

The cast is as follows (in order of appearance):

Stupid Susan – a woman in her fifties (a smoker)

Sensible Susan – a woman in her fifties (a non-smoker)

[Stupid Susan is sorting through a bowl of earrings, trying to find two the same – a hopeless task.]

STUPID SUSAN [to herself]: So, I'm at home in Leicester this Christmas, stuffing the turkey's bum. Perhaps weeping over the damn thing [she sighs] as I remember last Christmas Day spent on a beach in Tobago. Did I really drink champagne in a warm, turquoise sea, or was it a fantastical dream? Did my husband finally learn to dance to the amplified sound of a steel band, or did I only imagine us swaying together in rhythmic harmony on a dance floor for the first time in twenty-two years? The maintenance problems at the hotel have been forgiven, if not forgotten. The shower that burst into flames, the electricity failures, the water supply with a will of its own. I didn't mind any of these inconveniences, though I have to admit that I was not the woman in the flaming shower. She may find it harder to forgive. Our Christmas table may have a Caribbean theme this year.

[She paces the room, falling off her purple platform slingbacks.]

Yes, I can see it now, we sit down to a table decorated with tropical flowers. Instead of paper hats we wear sarongs and garlands round our necks. We drink rum punch and eat to the sound of the Hallelujah Chorus played on steel drums. I could drag the grandkids' sandpit into the kitchen, throw in some shells, step into it, close my eyes and transport myself to Tobago.

[Sensible Susan enters.]

SENSIBLE SUSAN: OK, OK. That's enough, stop right there and take a few deep breaths. No! I didn't mean inhale more deeply on that cigarette – calm yourself, Stupid. You're getting into your usual Christmas panic and taking refuge in ludicrous Caribbean fantasies.

STUPID SUSAN: OK Sensible, so why don't you help me out about Christmas, eh? Why haven't you bought and wrapped the presents by 1 October, and ordered the turkey by 1 November, and bought the stamps for the cards by 1 December? That's the Sensible approach, isn't it?

SENSIBLE SUSAN: Please stop waving that foul cigarette under my nose. And why are you wearing those stupid shoes, Stupid? You know they'll cripple you, why don't you wear sensible shoes like me?

STUPID SUSAN [laughing heartlessly]: Because, Sensible, your sensible shoes look like Cornish pasties with straps.

SENSIBLE SUSAN [shouting]: At least I'llbe able to walk unaided when I'm sixty. You'll be leaning on a Zimmer frame.

STUPID SUSAN [shouting]: At least it will be a stylish Zimmer frame. I'll commission one from Zandra Rhodes. It'll have a zebra-skin handle and an inbuilt ashtray and…

SENSIBLE SUSAN: You're doing it again! Calm down!

STUPID SUSAN [sulkily]: So what do you want for Christmas?

SENSIBLE SUSAN: A grey cardigan that buttons up to the neck, six cotton handkerchiefs and a torch. What do you want?

STUPID SUSAN: I want a pot of chocolate body paint, membership of Madam Jo-Jo's club in Soho and a flagon of Joy perfume.

SENSIBLE SUSAN: You should ask for a bale of towels, Stupid, you haven't got a single matching towel in the house. I know, I've looked.

STUPID SUSAN: You should ask for fishnet stockings. You could always use them to strain the sprouts.

SENSIBLE SUSAN: Can we be sensible now, Stupid? I came round here to ask you about your plans for Christmas. Am I going to you, or you to me?

[She opens her organizer bag and takes out her electronic organizer. She presses a button and ‘Christmas Arrangements' shows on screen.]

STUPID SUSAN [pleading]: You do Christmas this year, Sensible. I forget to post the cards, I leave the giblets in the turkey, my mince pies break people's teeth. Please, I do it every year. It's your turn!

[But it is too late. Sensible is hurrying towards the travel agent's, where she is hoping to find a late cancellation for a flight to Tobago. She's not stupid.]