A Monologue for a Southern Manicurist

I had so much fun playing this character in The Chronicles of Hernia that I want to keep working on material for her, so I thought I'd write her a monologue.

Hey sweetie. You want 'em round or square? Square? Good choice. Edith Mae was in here earlier today, and bless her heart, she insists on rounded nails. Square are so much more attractive. Mmm. Hmm.

So, how's Ray? (waits for response.) He did? What a sweetheart! You know, not every man takes care of his woman that way. Just last week, Cindy, bless her heart, told me that she caught her man cheatin'. Well, of course, I told her I'd keep in it the strictest confidence. I'm just telling you because I know you're discreet.

I told Jim Bob that if he ever even thinks about cheatin' on me that I will drop kick him so far, he won't know what city he's in when he lands on his boney bottom. Of course, Jim Bob would never cheat. I don't think. I mean there was that one time I found Emma Lou's majorette boots under our bed, but Jim Bob swore up and down that she left them at the stadium after the game and he was just holdin' onto them until he saw her next. I trusted him because what's a marriage without trust, right? That's why I didn't even bat an eye when I found lipstick on the collar of his shirt last Saturday when he came home after the Kiwanis club potluck. He said that Odelle Bisby got a little cheeky during the meet 'n' greet, so I didn't press him on it further. Bless her heart, old Odelle's vision is so bad, she probably thought Jim Bob was her late husband. Then there was that time two Christmases ago when he came home smellin' like Chanel Number 5. He told me I shouldn't ask questions around Christmastime, that he just got attacked by the perfume ladies at the mall. Well, who am I to ask a gift-horse questions when 'tis the season and all. Right? Bless his heart, his sniffer don't work too good because I got a bottle of Charlie in my stocking, but it's the thought that counts right? Mmm. Hmm.

What color sweetie? Plum? Nice choice. Yesterday Louise was in and she chose the most awful shade of fuchsia. I wanted to tell her that no one has chosen that shade since 1986, but she was so enthusiastic about her choice, bless her heart, that there was no stopping that train wreck. With each nail that I painted, the more she "oo"ed and "aah"ed. I was cringing on the inside, but my mama told me that if you can't say somethin' nice, take a bit of good advice and don't say anything at all. So I just smiled and pretended that I was painting Madonna's nails for her "Holiday" video. What else could I do? Class is an important character trait to possess, and I like to think that I got it.