excerpt, The Closet of Empty Frames.

Here's a short scene that I wrote today, from an as-yet-unwritten parody play called The Closet of Empty Frames. It's a Virginia Woolf-style take on a conversation I had with JJW. No items or insults were flung in the actual version.

(HAROLD stands in front of a closet. GERTRUDE sits on the loveseat, vodka in her glass.)
HAROLD. It's a fruit, dammit.
GERRY. Vegetable.
HAROLD. Eat shit.
GERRY. [clinking the ice in her glass. Child voice] Why does Daddy wants to pick fights?
HAROLD. Because it's late.
GERRY. I thought you weren't tired?
HAROLD. I'm not. I'm going to bed.
GERRY. My frames!
HAROLD. Get them your goddamn self, Gertrude.
GERRY. Don't call me that.
HAROLD. Why not, Gertrude?
GERRY. (gritted teeth) I said, don't call me that!
HAROLD. But it's your Christian name.
GERRY. (gets up to pour herself the last of the vodka) You've got to be Christian first.
HAROLD. Don't you think it's pretty? (she doesn't answer) Hunh? (still) Don't you? (again) ...Gertrude?
(GERRY lunges at HAROLD, pushing him into the closet and shutting the door on him. She is giggling madly with delight; we hear him pounding on the door and calling her name; he is getting freaked out, she is laughing still. Finally he bursts from the door, out of breath, scarred and scared. He collects himself. She drinks. Their eyes finally meet.)
HAROLD. Fruit.
(he quick-exits to the bedroom as she hurls the glass of vodka at the door behind him)
(end of scene)