Here’s a monologue I wrote. (So it’s one big chunk) Enjoy!
Thanksgiving for Nothing
By Audrey Kearns
Julia stands at the Thanksgiving table with a drink her hand. She is surrounded by her family. She’s a little drunk
Julia: Okay. It’s my turn to give a toast here and…I, uh…I don’t know what to say. (TOO LOUDLY) HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE…that was loud. Wow. I’m sorry about that. I’ve had a little too much wine. Not as much as Aunt Sandra, who peed on the rug earlier…which is fine. I’m not judging. I’m not judging. That’s not what I do…that’s not my skill. Although if it was my skill I’d come by that honestly. Right mother. Okay…the toast. (BEAT) Here’s a question I have: why does everyone at the table have to give a toast? That’s…and I’m sorry Grandpa, I know this is your thing…that’s a really obnoxious tradition. There are thirteen people at this table! Even if everyone was as brief as my brother Rich who just stood and farted, we’re always fifteen or twenty minutes into dinner before we eat a bite of food. And with the amount of butter that Mother puts into these potatoes, eating them cold isn’t just gross…it’s dangerous. But, you know, whatever…it’s a tradition so. Okay. The toast. The toast. I’m toasting. Toast…ing. You know what would be good instead of a toast? If everyone went around and said what they were thankful for. That’s a no brainer right? I mean it’s right there in the name, “Thanks” giving. I mean my dear sister Paula could say how thankful she is for her breast implants, even if they do make her look like a porn star. And cousin Toby could say how thankful he is that no one knows he’s gay. (Beat) Oops. Toby’s gay everyone. The cat’s out of the bag, and its belt and shoes match impeccably. (LAUGHS) So before I toast I think I’d like to say what I’m thankful for. I am thankful that none of you have missed an opportunity to mention how sorry you are that Carl and I broke up. And I am thankful for your concern and sincere wish that he and I, “work things out”. Even though we are now LEGALLY divorced and he’s living with the arty farty espresso girl from Starbucks with the “trendy” glasses and the big rack, who he claimed not to be checking out even though I knew he was. What did think I was, a fucking retard? I’m sorry Mother I know you don’t like the word “retard” or “fucking”…or the idea of fucking…unless you’re telling everyone that I’ve been fucking around with men I meet at airport bars. Which I realize, is how you met my father, but is not specifically true in my case. Yes I do work at the airport. And yes I have had coffee with a man that I work with. But, and Grandma this will be of special interest to you, we have not had sex. Or a second date. So you can stop telling people that I’m pregnant, have herpes and a swinger. Especially when I’m standing right behind you in the kitchen. Anyway, those are just some examples of “thank yous”. Maybe we can try that next year. For now, let’s stick to the good old toast. It’s served us well. So raise your glass everyone. (SHE RAISES HER GLASS) Here’s to family. They are the people you can count on to support you in the good times, and avoid you in the bad. Now let’s dig into this meal before it completely congeals. Amen.