By Laura Grimes
THE SCENE: Mr. and Mrs. Scatter arrive home late one muggy evening after going to The Theatre. It’s October, when mad science takes over without warning. The Small Large Smelly Boy is waiting on the front porch to greet his adoring parents. The He Cat’s nose is just behind the slit door.
SMALL LARGE SMELLY BOY
(Gives his beloved mother a big hug.) I’m ready for a martini with two olives.
(Mrs. Scatter and The Small LSB unhug and open the front door. The He Cat bolts out the door.)
MRS. SCATTER
Hi, Jack the Barfer.
MR. SCATTER
(Laughing.) Why Jack the Barfer?
MRS. SCATTER
Because he barfed up hairballs all over the front porch. Look for yourself. They’re dry, gross things. I haven’t hosed them off yet.
(Mr. and Mrs. Scatter shed various coats and bags.)
So, did you really want a martini?
MR. SCATTER
That was The Small LSB.
THE SMALL LSB
With salt around the rim.
MR. SCATTER
(To The Small LSB.) No, that would be mixing drinks. (To Mrs. Scatter.) How do you make a virgin martini?
(Mrs. Scatter disappears into the kitchen and 20 minutes pass in which time she can be heard clinking around and Mr. Scatter and The Small LSB read about cheese.)
MR. SCATTER
(Enters the kitchen gyrating to the sounds of the dishwasher. Mrs. Scatter looks up in alarm, not because of the gyrations. She’s used to those.)
We were orgasmoing to cheeses.
MRS. SCATTER
But it’s not Sunday yet.
(Mr. Scatter continues to gyrate while Mrs. Scatter picks up a bunch of dirty spoons. They stop at the same time and exchange puzzled looks.)
MR. SCATTER
We were reading about cheese.
MRS. SCATTER
(Suddenly remembers the expensive cheese magazine she bought when she went shopping unsupervised. She puts the dirty spoons in the sink. Mr. Scatter starts gyrating again, this time pointing pulsing fingers at the dishwasher in perfect sync with its rhythm.)
Oh. You weren’t reading churchy stuff?
MR. SCATTER
(Finally spots most of the contents of the fridge on the counter and stops gyrating. He points in alarm.)
What’s the spaghetti sauce doing on the counter?
MRS. SCATTER
(She quickly starts to screw caps back on all the miniature bottles of brined foodstuffs.) We didn’t have any olives. (Mr. Scatter continues to point to the spaghetti sauce.)
MRS. SCATTER
I was trying to make Bloody Marys, but we didn’t have any tomato juice. (Mr. Scatter continues to point to the spaghetti sauce.)
MRS. SCATTER
It’s homemade. (Mr. Scatter continues to point to the spaghetti sauce.)
MRS. SCATTER
I was trying to use up all the little jars of brined foodstuffs. Look! (She excitedly points to the two nifty overlarge toothpicks with a colorful assortment of pickled green bean — broken in two because it was the last one — pickled garlics, cocktail onions and two cherry tomatoes, one red and one yellow, all nicely arranged by contrasting colors. Mr. Scatter continues to point to the spaghetti sauce.)
MRS. SCATTER
I even used horseradish. (Mrs. Scatter picks up both glasses and hands one to Mr. Scatter with a bright smile. She waits expectantly for him to finally say something.)
MR. SCATTER
You don’t clean out the refrigerator to make drinks.
MRS. SCATTER
(She clinks his glass and takes a sip. She stifles a contorted face and continues to smile brightly at Mr. Scatter while he stands there holding his glass.) We could be joining Jack the Barfer on the front porch.