by Neil Simon
(Roy has just come in from the ledge of his hotel room, trying to get his daughter to come out of the bathroom and get married)
Don’t get her upset? I’m hanging seven stories from a gargoyle in a pouring rain and you want me to worry about her? . . . You know what she’s doing in there? She’s playing with her false eyelashes. . . (crossing back to Norma.) I already made up my mine. The minute I get my hands on her, I’m gonna kill her. (Moves back to door.) once I show them the wedding bills, no jury on earth would convict me. . . And if by some miracle she survives, let there be no talk of weddings. . . She can go into a convent. (Slowly moving back to Norma below bed.) Let her become a librarian with thick glasses and a pencil in her hair, I’m not paying for anymore cancelled weddings. . . (Working himself up into a frenzy, he rushes to the table by the armchair and grabs up some newspapers.) Now get her out of there or I start to burn these newspapers and smoke her out.