Cathy likes Zachary and wants to go the dance with him; he likes her
(Speaking to a Zachary)
Hello, hi … hello. I’m a, um, I’m … I’m Cathy. I’m … not a chatty Cathy. I’m sort of the inverse of that. An un-chatty Cathy.
It’s the first time I’ve heard me talk too. I mean, the first time I’ve heard me talk to you. To you in particular. Did you even know my name was Cathy? That I sit behind you in homeroom? Really? I’ve never seen you look back. I’ve seen your back, but not you looking back.
Oh God. So I’m taking this public speaking class, and now here we are, in public, speaking. But I was hoping it’d be more private. Could you … excuse us, Patsy? Thanks.
In public speaking class, they say, tell a story, some anecdote that let’s your audience know who you are. When I was six, I was a proud bluebird of the Camp Fire Girls of America! As a bluebird, I had to sell mint thins door to door. When my older brother heard, he started laughing. He told my mom, “How is she supposed to sell them if she never makes a peep?”
I could feel my eyes getting a little wet, and I think my mother saw because she said, “They’re going to find her so adorable, she won’t have to make a peep! And you’re going to take her.”
My mother got me dressed in my official bluebird outfit - a little white button up short sleeve shirt, a knee length blue skirt, knee high white socks, white Mary Jane shoes, my hair in pigtails and my bluebird pin. She wrote out a little introduction on an index card, “Hello, my name is Cathy and I’m a bluebird. How would you like to purchase some mint thins to benefit the Campfire Girls of America?” And she included all the details they needed to order the cookies. “See, she’s armed with cuteness and the right words.” She smiled at me, patting my head, “Now fly, my little bluebird, nothing can stop you now!”
My older brother sighed and took me door to door. He’d wait at the end of each walkway, and I’d make the long walk myself to the front door. My legs would shake. When someone opened, usually a mom – I’d find myself unable to speak. But I had my words. I’d hold out the card and each strange mom at the door would read it, smile, and buy my mint thins. I sold every box.
I wanted to tell you that story, because … sometimes you have the words, but it’s too hard to get them to come out of your mouth. See … I know you were going to ask me something … but then Patsy told you I think you’re ugly, because you have acne and the medicine isn’t working. That I’d never go to the dance with you. And that I think you smell like old socks.
Well, I didn’t say that and I’d rather not say the following out loud so I wrote it.
(Holds up a large index card. “Patsy is a jerk” and then another “You’re cute” and then another “Be My Dance Date”)
Well … what do you say? I have a blank card, and a pen, if that’d be easier for you.
Source from the author's website Monologue Genie
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