I’m a former comedy writer who has fallen off the stage and into the world of writing screwball comedies. The Goddaughter is my latest zany book.
People often ask me why I write silly stuff. I say it’s because I am seriously fed up with reality. I mean, really - what’s so special about it? Everybody does it.
So for those of you who are sick of reality (TV or otherwise,) this is for you. In the lofty traditions of Dallas, Dynasty and Desperate Housewives, make way for…TRAVESTY!
Note the originality of the plot. (Hey, it’s rerun season!)
INTERIOR. A pink frilly bedroom. Daytime. An attractive young woman in full makeup and Victoria’s Secret underwear reclines on the bed, moaning fatuously. An older man kneels by her side, wringing his well-manicured hands.
Lance: “Tell me April, I gotta know. Is the baby mine?”
April (in bed): “Oh Lance! Oh Lance! <sob!> …what baby?”
Michael enters the room.
Michael: “April honey, I’ve got something to tell you.”
April: “No - <sob> - not-“
April: “You? And Lance?”
Michael: “And your mother’s been hit by a beer truck, and the boutique has burnt down.”
April (standing up in bed): “THE BOUTIQUE?”
Michael: “We saved the clothes, but the jewelry was a meltdown. Sorry.”
April (clutching throat): “I can’t take it anymore! This is too much for one day.”
Michael: “And it’s only 8 a.m.”
Lance (clearing throat): “About your mother…”
April (collapsing on bed): “OH-MY-GOD, MOTHER! She hated beer.”
Lance: “I have something to tell you…”
April (to director): “Do I faint now?”
Lance: “…she’s actually not your mother…”
April: “You mean-“
Lance: “Yes. I am”
<gasps all around>
Michael: “That trip to Sweden…?”
Michael: “But didn’t we…?”
Director (to April): “You can faint now.”
Stay tuned next week for more riveting drama, when April asks the question, “How do you tell if blue cheese is bad?”