Announcer:

And now, ___________________ and ___________________ as John and Blanche Bickerson in "The Honeymoon is Over."

MUSIC (Theme)

Announcer:

The Bickerson's have retired. Mrs. Bickerson lies tense and awake in the darkness as poor husband, John, victim of a rare type of insomnia which keeps the patient in a complete lethargy for eight hours at a time, offers valid proof of his agonizing affliction.

JOHN:

(Snoring, etc.)

BLANCHE:

This has been going on since nine o'clock.

JOHN:

(Snoring . . . then a kind of wheezing or laughing)

BLANCHE:

Oh, please, not that again.

JOHN:

(Snoring, etc, continues.)

BLANCHE:

John! John!

JOHN:

Heh-heh-heh.

BLANCHE:

Quit it!

JOHN:

(Still asleep) Quit it Blanche. (Laughing in sleep)

BLANCHE:

John!

JOHN:

Uh-uh!

BLANCHE:

There must be something that'll put a stop to that hideous snoring. Why do you do it?

JOHN:

Do what, Blanche?

BLANCHE:

Snore

JOHN:

Huh?

BLANCHE:

Snore!

JOHN:

(Starts snoring and giggling in his sleep.)

BLANCHE:

John! I'm going out of my mind. For years you've been telling people you've got insomnia, and you not only sleep like a log, but you sound like you're sawing it.

JOHN:

Very funny.

BLANCHE:

It isn't funny, it's tragic.

SOUND:

(Clock strikes two)

BLANCHE:

There's the clock again. Two o'clock. I've counted that thing, John, forty-five times since we went to bed and I still haven't slept.

JOHN:

Well, how do you expect to sleep if you're gonna lie there counting chimes. Throw the darn clock out - it's keeping me awake, too.

BLANCHE:

You wouldn't wake up if we had Big Ben in the room!

JOHN:

Big Ben who?

BLANCHE:

The house could fall down, you'd never know it.

JOHN:

Oh, that's not true, Blanche. You know I'm a very light sleeper.

BLANCHE:

Light sleeper. About an hour ago we had the worst thunderstorm I ever heard and you never even budged.

JOHN:

Well, why didn't you wake me. You know I can't sleep when it's thundering.

BLANCHE:

I'm a nervous wreck. I've got crow's feet around my eyes, my forehead's all wrinkled, and my chin is sagging. I'm beginning to look like an old hag. It's true, isn't it?

JOHN:

I wouldn't say that.

BLANCHE:

Why not, John?

JOHN:

I'll be awake for the rest of the night.

BLANCHE:

You do think it's true though, don't you?

JOHN:

What's true?

BLANCHE:

I'm beginning to look like an old hag.

JOHN:

You are not beginning to look like an old hag.

BLANCHE:

Why do you emphasize "beginning"?

JOHN:

All right. You're not beginning to look like an old hag.

BLANCHE:

That sounds even worse.

JOHN:

Well, how do you want me to say it?

BLANCHE:

Say I look beautiful.

JOHN:

OK. "I look beautiful." Good night!

BLANCHE:

Oh, I don't know how a man could be so cruel. Is it any wonder I'm getting old before my time.

JOHN:

What time is it?

BLANCHE:

It's after two o'clock and I haven't slept a wink.

JOHN:

Well, go to sleep.

BLANCHE:

You can't stand the sight of me, can you, John?

JOHN:

I can stand it fine.

BLANCHE:

Before we were married, you used to say such beautiful, poetic things. You don't anymore.

JOHN:

Oh, well Blanche, how do you expect me to feel poetic at two o'clock in the morning?

BLANCHE:

You used to feel that way at three o'clock before we were married. Say something poetic.

JOHN:

Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty-Dumpty had a great . . .

BLANCHE:

(Interrupts) Oh, stop it. You're just trying to irritate me, now.

JOHN:

Well, what do you want me to say?

BLANCHE:

You know what I want you to say.

JOHN:

OK. Blanche, when I look into your eyes, time stands still. Are you satisfied?

BLANCHE:

No.

JOHN:

Well, why not?

BLANCHE:

That might also mean I have a face that would stop a clock.

JOHN:

Well, if the shoe fits, wear it. I wanna get some sleep.

BLANCHE:

You're not going to make me believe I'm hideous and ugly, John Bickerson.

JOHN:

Huh?

BLANCHE:

It isn't so long ago I won a beauty contest in my home town.

JOHN:

Long enough.

BLANCHE:

I never hear you tell any of your friends about it.

JOHN:

Oh, Blanche, a man can't go around telling his friends that his wife was Miss Clam Harbor Lighthouse of 1931.

BLANCHE:

You make it sound as though I was the only girl in the contest. What about my sister, Clara?

JOHN:

What about her? Plenty. You won it, didn't ya.?

BLANCHE:

I'd like to hear you talk that way about Gloria Gooseby.

JOHN:

Oh, now don't start with Gloria Gooseby.

BLANCHE:

The way you drool every time you look at her, you'd think she was Miss America.

JOHN:

I don't drool when I see anybody. I hate Gloria Gooseby.

BLANCHE:

Then why do you keep inviting her here to dinner.

JOHN:

I didn't invite her. You did.

BLANCHE:

Don't change the subject. If it weren't for the fact that her husband Leo is such a nice person, I wouldn't have either of them in the house. And the dinner was awful.

JOHN:

Well, you cooked it, Blanche.

BLANCHE:

Yes, the thought of that horrible Gloria Gooseby coming to dinner got me all confused and I ruined everything. The minute I turned my back, the roast caught on fire and I had to throw soup on it to put it out.

JOHN:

You should have thrown that pie on it, too.

BLANCHE:

There was nothing wrong with the pie.

JOHN:

I hate lemon meringue and you know it.

BLANCHE:

It wasn't lemon meringue, it was apple pie.

JOHN:

Well, what was that yellow stuff on top?

BLANCHE:

The crust got burned and I had to put some Unguentine on it.

JOHN:

Thank heaven I didn't eat any.

BLANCHE:

No, but your girl friend stuffed herself with four pieces, the glutton.

JOHN:

She is not my girl friend and quit talking about her so I can get some sleep.

BLANCHE:

You wouldn't look at her twice if she didn't wear those brazen dresses.

JOHN:

I would, too! I mean . . . I don't care what she wears.

BLANCHE:

It's a shame Leo is such a little mouse. Believe me, if I were Gloria Gooseby's husband, I'd show her a thing or two.

JOHN:

(Grunts)

BLANCHE:

Somebody ought to turn her over and give her a good spanking.

JOHN:

Uh-Huh!

BLANCHE:

I know what you're thinking, John Bickerson.

JOHN:

I'm not thinking anything. Why don't you let me sleep, Blanche?

BLANCHE:

I'm not going to stand for it much longer, John. You keep putting on that innocent attitude, but you don't fool me. I wouldn't feel so bad, except . . . I'm so sick I could die.

JOHN:

What's the matter now?

BLANCHE:

I'm sick. I get fainting spells all the time and the doctor doesn't know what it is. I know I'll never recover.

JOHN:

(scoffs) Oh, don't be silly. You'll recover. You've got a healthy constitution.

BLANCHE:

I have not!

JOHN:

You have, too! You had pneumonia and you got well. You had the flu, you got well. You had the mumps, you got well. You've had sixty diseases and you always got well. I never saw such a healthy woman in all my life.

BLANCHE:

Well, what about these fainting spells?

JOHN:

You'll recover from those, too. But if you ever get lockjaw, you'll bust. Why don't you faint now, so I can sleep?

BLANCHE:

Of all the unsympathetic, unfeeling wretches, if you ever lost me it wouldn't mean a thing to you.

JOHN:

Oh, wouldn't it though!

BLANCHE:

Well, you don't have to sound so eager.

JOHN:

I'm not eager, I'm just sleepy.

BLANCHE:

It's a good thing we don't have any children. I can just imagine what kind of a life a poor little child would have in this house.

JOHN:

(Grunts)

BLANCHE:

To have a father who constantly rants and raves, selfish and thoughtless - a man who can't bear the sight of his own child.

JOHN:

What are you talking about?

BLANCHE:

Me sick in bed and the poor little infant crying in his crib - crying his heart out for a little attention.

JOHN:

Blanche!

BLANCHE:

Why don't you feed the baby, John? John, why do you hate children so much?

JOHN:

Because I can't bear them!

BLANCHE:

I know, but why do you hate them?

JOHN:

Blanche, all you want to do is keep me awake, isn't that right?

BLANCHE:

You would have been asleep long ago if you hadn't kept me awake with your snoring.

JOHN:

Well, can I help it if I snore?

BLANCHE:

Yes, you can. Dr. Marvin tells me there's something wrong with your nasal passages. He says you have a deviated septum. Why don't you let him fix it?

JOHN:

OK, I'll have it fixed next week.

BLANCHE:

You say it but you won't do it. Let him fix it now.

JOHN:

What!?

BLANCHE:

Go on! Get up and let the doctor pull out your septum.

JOHN:

Blanche, are you out of your mind? Do you think I'm gonna let that broken down doctor hammer on my nose at three o'clock in the morning?

BLANCHE:

He doesn't hammer on your nose, he chisels.

JOHN:

You can say that again - I've seen his bill.

BLANCHE:

Well, you're gonna have to do something - as it is, neither of us is getting any sleep.

JOHN:

Why don't you have him sew up your ears?

BLANCHE:

I wouldn't argue at all if you'd just be a little nice for a minute.

JOHN:

You've been up to something again, Blanche, what is it?

BLANCHE:

I haven't been up to anything. I just want to hear you tell me you love me, that's all.

JOHN:

Well, you know I do.

BLANCHE:

You never say it.

JOHN:

Oh, I say it all the time.

BLANCHE:

Say it now.

JOHN:

I love you.

BLANCHE:

How much do you love me?

JOHN:

How much do you need?

BLANCHE:

Fifty dollars.

JOHN:

Oh, now wait a minute, Blanche . . .

BLANCHE:

You promised me, John.

JOHN:

I know, but I can't give you anything extra this month.

BLANCHE:

That's what you told me last month.

JOHN:

Well, I kept my word, didn't I? Now what do you want fifty dollars for?

BLANCHE:

The rent.

JOHN:

Oh, the rent is in the cookie jar.

BLANCHE:

No it isn't.

JOHN:

It is too. I looked there yesterday.

BLANCHE:

You didn't look today.

JOHN:

What? Now Blanche, don't tell me you spent that money on something foolish.

BLANCHE:

Oh, no. I gave it to a book binder.

JOHN:

A book binder? What do we need with a book binder? Our book is in fine condition.

BLANCHE:

Not that kind of book binder. This man goes to the race track. He's a trout.

JOHN:

A trout? . . . The race track? . . . Blanche! . . . Blanche, did you bet that money with a bookmaker? Put the lights on.

BLANCHE:

Now don't get excited, John, he brought back the ticket. Here.

JOHN:

Oh! A fifty dollar win ticket. How could you take my hard-earned money and gamble it away on a horse? I work my fingers to the bone and you squander every penny I make. You never see me betting horses. I've never been to a race track in my life. I . . . What's the name of the horse?

BLANCHE:

Valdino Ridge.

JOHN:

The bum. A worn out goat that hasn't won a race since Del Mar. Oh, Blanche, why did you do it? . . . Did he win?

BLANCHE:

No, he ran second.

JOHN:

Fifty dollars. Tossed away. (Mutters as he tears up ticket)

SOUND:

(Tearing up ticket)

BLANCHE:

Why are you tearing up the ticket, John?

JOHN:

Because it's no good. I ought to make you eat the pieces. This is the worst thing you've ever done in your life, Blanche. At least you could have played him to place.

BLANCHE:

Well, don't throw the pieces away, John. What makes you so sure it's no good?

JOHN:

Well, you played the horse to win, didn't ya?

BLANCHE:

Yes.

JOHN:

And he ran second didn't he?

BLANCHE:

Yes.

JOHN:

Well, then the ticket's worthless. Here. Watch your fifty dollars go out the window. . . .There! I knew you had something on your mind.

BLANCHE:

I'm sorry, John.

JOHN:

Ah, what's the difference. Who won the race? Do you know?

BLANCHE:

Yes, I heard it on the radio.

JOHN:

Well, who won it?

BLANCHE:

Disqualified.

JOHN:

Disqualified?

BLANCHE:

Yes, the announcer said, "The winner of the race was disqualified."

JOHN:

Augh! Oh, I wish I was dead.

BLANCHE:

Good night, John.