Melody's mom sent me an e-mail this morning. They're agent shopping and Melody needs a one-minute dramatic and comedy monologue. They found the drama, but couldn't find anything remotely funny that a thirteen year old could do. I told her I'd think about it - and I couldn't think of anything either. On my jog, I got an idea, and when I got back I wrote her a monologue. I sent it to them without telling them it was me. They loved it and wanted to know what it was from so they could read the play. I 'fessed up that I'd written it just for her. And her mother said, "That's why it's perfect for her." Here it is:
Molly: Can I tell you about my mother? I need to tell you about my mother. Please, let me tell you about my mother. Okay, I’m telling you about my mother. She’s crazy. She’s thirty-eight years old. She’s having some kind of mid-life whatever. She wants to be my age, she wants to be thirteen. She wants to be best friends and do what I do and hang out with me all the time. I told her I have lots of friends my age, that I need her to be an adult. She took away my cell phone for using the “A” word. She wants to have sleepovers. I told her, mother we live in the same house, we have sleepovers every night. That’s not good enough. She wants to sleep in my room and stay up late and act stupid. She wants me to call her Eileen. Who wants to call their mother Eileen? First of all, her name is Dorothy. But she saw some old movie on cable, My Sister Eileen, and now she wants to be Eileen. She does that all the time. Last week she saw The Sound Of Music and wanted me to call her Leisl. She kept on singing I am sixteen going on seventeen – I sang back, you are sixteen going on thirty-eight – she took away my cell phone for being an ungrateful daughter. Yesterday she came into my room to show me her new thong. Can I just tell you that the one thing a thirteen year old never needs to see ever is their mother wearing a thong? Fail. I just want my mother back. I want thirty-eight to be the new thirty-eight not the new thirteen.