A/N: I know. Random. But I really love the movie and I felt it blasphemous not to have any on my profile. So, here's one. Hope it is sufficiently humourous.
Not Such a Prude
"So what do you do with these women, you just get up out of bed and leave?"
"Sure."
Sally made a disgusted sound, a cross between a snort and a…something else. She stabbed at her salad, looking like she wanted my face to be in its place at the moment.
"Well explain to me how you do it. What do you say?" she demanded, her eyes begging me to redeem myself.
So I answered honestly. "You say you have an early meeting, early haircut or a squash game," I replied with a shrug.
"You don't play squash," she accused.
"They don't know that, they just met me," I countered logically.
"That's disgusting," she said, but was gentler with her salad.
"I know, I feel terrible," I told her, probably unconvincingly.
Sally shook her head, a wry smile on her face. "You know I'm so glad I never got involved with you."
Ouch.
I gave her a questioning look.
"I just would've ended up being some woman you had to get up out of bed and leave at three o'clock in the morning," she continued, "and clean your andirons and you don't even have a fireplace. Not that I would notice," she added as if to spite me.
"Why are you getting so upset?" I asked, "This is not about you," I told her lightly.
"Oh yes it is," she said pointedly, "You are a human affront to all women and I am a woman," she explained as if two and two equaled four.
Nice use of the Algebraic transitive property, Sally.
However, I tried to save face. "Hey I don't feel great about this but I don't hear anyone complaining."
"Of course not, you're out of the door too fast."
Ouch again.
"I think they have an okay time," I said lamely. Way to go Harry.
"How do you know?" she countered.
What? "What do you mean how do I know? I know!" I told her rationally.
She looked as if she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "Because they..."
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: Sally the Prude. "Yes, because they..." I played along.
She bit her bottom lip. "And how do you know that they really..."
She couldn't possibly be suggesting what I thought she was suggesting. All right, Sally, no more beating around the bush. Hah. Bush… "What are you saying, that they fake orgasm?"
"It's possible," she remarked loftily.
"Get outta here!" I scoffed.
"Why?" she asked and she looked a little too confident for her own good, "Most women at one time or another have faked it."
I shook my head…nope not with Harry. "Well they haven't faked it with me," I replied unwaveringly.
"How do you know?" she accused again.
"Because I know."
So there.
"Oh, right, that's right, I forgot, you're a man."
She said that like it was a bad thing.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I demanded.
"Nothing," she replied promptly.
Was it just me or did that sound a little patronizing?
"It's just that all men are sure it never happened to them and that most women at one time or another have done it so you do the math."
Whaaaaaaat?
"You don't think that I could tell the difference?" I challenged.
"No," she countered with such confidence that one would have thought that maybe there was an off-chance that she could be right.
Maybe.
"Get outta here," I say, and that's just enough to shut her up.
Harry—one. Sally—zero.
Ah, what the hell, Harry—one, Sally—one. Let's giver her points for trying.
"Oh…mmm…"
My ears perk up and I look up at Sally.
"You okay?" I say, mouth full of food.
Yeesh, didn't think she'd take so hard to losing.
But she continues to make…noises…
"Oooh…Oh…Oooh."
No.
"Oh yeah, right there…"
Yes…?
She ran a hair through her hair, ruffling the curls on the crown of her head. Every table suddenly seemed to take a genuine interest in the commotion occurring at ours. I looked around nervously, attempting to sink down on the seat but she banged her hands on the table with a resounding clunk! I jumped a foot in the air, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh…Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!...Oh...Oh...Oh God! Yes! Oh! Ooooh!"
I loosened my collar unconsciously as she gripped at her own, as if ripping it down, though it stubbornly hung on, and her breathing hitched for a moment before she threw her head back and moaned loudly. "OH! YES! YES! OH GOD! OOH GOD! YES! YES!"
Obviously, she had hit her climax, and before I knew it, her crescendoeoing moans had slowed, and her tone had turned into no more than quiet, mewling, "mmm…"'s.
By the time she had finished, the entire restaurant was staring, stricken at Sally, who, with a very un-Sally-like smile picked up her fork, and resumed eating her salad.
"I'll have what she's having."
The restaurant resumed their normal chatter, and I raised an eyebrow at the older woman who had just requested Sally's meal. I looked back at her; she was going about her food the same way, as if nothing happened.
Sally the Prude just turned into Sally the Screamer.