It’s All a Metaphor… for Divorce?

It’s that time again—time for another installment of your favorite comedy troupe! This week was incredible. The audiences were great, and we’re so excited to bring this project to even more places this year. 

If you’re interested in more announcements, keep an eye out for more information in our next skits published here. 

For now, we’ve got a brand-new sketch for you all. This time, we’re getting a little bit literary with a critic and their spouse, who’s thinking about getting literal about a divorce. 

A couple sits in a living room, each tending to their own business. The woman wears typical modern wear, while the husband is wearing a smoking jacket. A pipe dangles from his lips as he reads the newspaper. 

“You know, it’s incredibly droll, really, Maria.”

Maria sighed, glancing up from her own book. “Yes, Charles?”

“For a woman with your mind, you certainly enjoy reading those…”

“Those what, paperbacks?”

“Mm, yes, those.” He chuckles sensibly. “I mean, I suppose you don’t read with the critic’s eye, which I suppose is my curse to bear, but—”

“Alright, that’s it.” She slams her bookmark into place and stands. “I’ve had it up to here with you!”

“Metaphorically, of course.” He smiles confidently at her. “Dear Maria, what has set your heart to flight? You’re usually so—”

“Just stop talking for a second!” She rubs her temples. “Do you know how exhausting it is to live with someone who only talks through the lens of Umberto Eco, or James Joyce?”

“They are our finest.” He frowns. “My dear, I simply don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“I’m saying that you better shape up, or I’m filing for divorce.” She crosses her arms, staring him down.

He crumples immediately, sliding out of his chair and onto his knees, begging. “Oh, Maria, is your heart so cold? I could not stand to live without you!” He scoots forward on his knees, and she steps back. She glances at the audience with a smug look. “Maria, you are my Helen of Troy, my Catherine Earnshaw, my Lo—”

“Alright, you can stop there. You know how I feel about Nabokov.” She sighs. “This is a pretty pathetic sight.”

“In that it inspires pathos in you, which begs that you reconsider?”

“Something like that.” She taps her chin. “But you know, you’ll have to really shape up.”

“Anything, my love.”

“Well, first of all, lose the smoking jacket.”

“But it is a symbol of refinement!”

 “Then wear a suit when we go out, this is ridiculous.” She sighs, studying him. “You really changed your accent when you got that job doing book reviews for the local newspaper, but we’ll work on that over time. We’re also going to have to change your reading materials.”

He shudders at the thought. “If… If it will please my love, my soulmate, my—”

“Alright, I get it.” She sighs and helps him out of the floor. “Oh, the pipe has to go, too. You don’t even smoke.”

He looks around, then sighs. “Alright, but I think marriage counseling would also be appropriate. Perhaps they might even agree with me on the importance of decorum and a literary mind.”

“Yeah, well, until then, we’re going to get you started on some books your readers will actually want to read about.”

He splutters, indignant, but he lets her take his hand and pull him toward the door. “Well, I can’t imagine anything more worth their time than the classics, but go on. What do you have in mind?”

“Hm, I’m thinking about… Have you ever heard of Twilight?”

He looks at the audience, horrified, before the lights dim.


Thanks again from the whole family for the well wishes, the ticket sales, and the great attitudes, folks. Next week, we’re taking to the great outdoors for our show. See you then! 

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