INT: A BEDROOM
JOYCE, a middle-aged woman, is standing in front of her full length mirror, narrating her actions as she gets ready in the morning. She is wearing a nightgown and her hair is wet.
(Like an announcer)
Here we have the specimen, one Joyce Harmon, forty-five, in her natural habitat. Note the coin-purse tummy and the lack of support for back, breasts, and arches. Hard to believe this beauty once competed in the 200-meter dash in the 1988 Olympics.
(Does a slow spin)
If I could draw your eye to the leg area, you will note that the calves still look phenomenal and are unmarred by the cellulite encroaching on the thighs. Ah yes, but what we're all asking ourselves is: How does she do it?
(Picks up an eyeliner pencil and begins to darken her eyes)
Well, folks, we start with what Joyce's mother called "Cleopatra eyes," but a bit softer at the edges, because, as everyone knows, Joyce's mother was married four times to three men, and one can't help but wonder if the smoky '60s look was actually responsible, as Maybelline would have us believe. Joyce once said she'd never be anything like her mother, but the aging process seems to have disagreed with her there, wouldn't ya say?
(Takes an eyelash curler to her lashes)
Now, Joyce's last girlfriend was amazing at this particular event, what we call "Curling." Never pinched her lids or anything. Carol had beautiful lashes, thick and dark around those green, Irish eyes. Boy, was she a good time, amirite, folks?
(Sets down the curler and starts to apply mascara. Still speaking to herself, but quieter, more thoughtful now)
She loved heavy makeup, by god. Loved to wear it, loved to see it. Didn't even care that she woke up with raccoon eyes or that her morning routine lasted two hours, like a crazy person. And why bother that much at this age? Who's looking anymore? This whole thing isn't doing Joyce any good anyway.
(Sets down the mascara and really looks at herself, only one eye done. Dropping the announcer voice)
I am terrible at this. God. What's the point? I thought it'd be the four marriage syndrome that got me, but I couldn't even manage one. And now here I am, fool body and fool mind and a face that can't make up its mind. Maybe if I called Carol, maybe if I just told her…
(Stops and shakes herself out of it. Laughs at her reflection)
Well, make-up isn't going to do this any good.
(In her announcer voice, as she reaches for the makeup remover wipes)
Sorry, folks. That's all the time we have for this game. Tune in next time to see Joyce lose her mind over a bathing suit.