Unexpected Developments

Past Imperfect – #566

Lucy: “Oh, look at this. There’s a huge pile of photographers over there, something you promised wouldn’t happen if we flew economy to Palm Springs Airport.”

Desi: “Now, now, mi bambina. I can’t control everything. Don’t get so agitated. Sometimes I swear you’re more Latina than I am.”

Lucy: “What do you mean, don’t get agitated? We’ve been flying for three days and I haven’t had a chance to change my panties. You don’t know what that does to a woman.”

Desi: “Just calm down. Nobody cares about your freshness.”

Lucy: “Oh really? Look at that man over your left shoulder. He’s clearly aware of something.”

Desi: “Maybe he’s thinking about the movie you did with Bob Hope. I told you that was a bad idea.”

Lucy: “I want a divorce.”

Desi: “Que? How did you get there from here?”

Lucy: “You never give me any credit and you never let me sing at your stupid nightclub. I’m tired of having to work extra hard to keep up appearances when you don’t have to do a damn thing.”

Desi: “On the contrary, I’m keeping up all the time. That’s why I’m carrying my newspaper like this.”

Lucy: “Don’t try to bring your Cuban customs into this. Wait, why are you carrying your newspaper like that? And when did you start reading?”

Desi: “I wet myself a little bit when we hit that turbulence during the landing. Not that you noticed, flailing about as you were like a witch doctor raising the dead. It’s always all about you.”

Lucy: “It’s not about me now. We can get a whole episode on our show about you tinkling like a chihuahua.”

Desi: “That’s extremely racist, bambina.”

Lucy: “It’s 1952. Everything is racist.”

Desi: “Fair enough. But still, you might want to put out that cigarette before you talk to the reporters.”

Lucy: “It’s 1952. Everybody smokes. Even the children.”

Desi: “It seems like we’re at an impasse at this point. I’m not sure what we can do to make this scene work.”

Ethel, barging in from next door like she always does: “Lucy? I got your text. What dumbass thing have you done now that ensures I get trapped in your nonsense?”

Fred, barging as well, because he’s hungry and he has no clue how to fix his own dinner: “This is where I say something cranky because I’ve been constipated since 1912 and I don’t give a damn what anybody thinks. Where’s my paycheck?”

Desi: “Alrighty, then. This all smells familiar.”

Lucy: “I told you I didn’t have time to freshen up.”

Bob Hope, barging in from, well, wherever it is that movie people go when they aren’t trending on social media: “I know how to freshen up things. I just make a thinly-veiled jab at liberals and the audience pretends to laugh because it’s 1952 and people were much more polite when it comes to politics. That’s how we Republicans were able to stifle the rights of women and, well, anyone who isn’t white.”

Ethel, turning to Bob: “Hold up, Tiny Dancer. What’s this about stifling women?”

Desi: “Okay, Lucy this is when we quietly slip away. I arranged for this as well.”

Lucy: “But all the photographers and the reporters. We have to suck up to them so Desilu Studios can make a profit.”

Desi: “No we don’t. Ethel will take care of it. Run like the wind.”

Bob Hope, turning to Ethel: “Isn’t there a man that should be holding you back?”

Ethel: “Oh, he’s about to be holding something. Here, Fred, hold my earrings. I’m ready to preach it but good.”

Bob: “I didn’t think women were allowed to be ordained.”

Fred: “Then you’ve never tasted her pot roast. Or her bite.”


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