ALEXANDRA: We’ve been waiting forever.
MICHAEL: Seriously. The line for gluten-free pączki was shorter than this.
ALEXANDRA: Maybe we won’t get in.
MICHAEL: Do you think? Don’t get my hopes up.
ALEXANDRA: Right? A guilt-free night off? I mean, we CAME to the Town Hall. We researched our top issues. We wrote our questions on recycled, fair-trade, unbleached notecards with ethically-harvested squid ink. We tried.
MICHAEL: He’s such a media recluse, though. If we’re being honest, I was hoping to see if he really wears a bowtie in his natural habitat, or if that was just a gimmick for the publicity photo.
ALEXANDRA: Well we’ve set civil rights back nearly 100 years, may as well set fashion back too. Every time I see a bowtie I think of that asshole that insulted our savior, he-who-must-return-as-host-of-The-Daily-Show-and-save-us-from-certain-destruction, Jon Stewart.
MICHAEL: You mean Tucker Carlson?
ALEXANDRA: Yeah fuck that guy AND his bowtie.
MICHAEL: But you bought me that vintage silk one on your business trip to Paris.
ALEXANDRA: When you wear them, it reminds me of when we first met — when I spotted the handsome, naïve, leader of the Young Republicans waiving around a clipboard and handing out pro-life pamphlets across the quad. Fortunately your misguided fervor faded, but your good looks didn’t.
MICHAEL: Thanks, love. And may I say your teeth are looking whiter than a new set of 1200 thread count sheets. Let’s get out of here. It’s not our problem the congressman didn’t book a big enough venue.
ALEXANDRA: Well shit, Michael. I wish you hadn’t said that. “Not our problem” is on every “Things Your Racist Uncle Says at Dinner” Drinking Bingo card on the internet. Now we HAVE to get into this Town Hall. We HAVE to be better.
MICHAEL: You’re overreacting.
ALEXANDRA: AM I, MICHAEL? Six months ago you and I would not have been in this line. I’d be on my reformer with Giorgio gently counting repetitions. You know he refuses to carry his papers with him? Every time I even suggest he should, he starts yelling about Mussolini until Kittery Klinton won’t touch her mindfully-prepared tuna cake.
MICHAEL: Alex, six months ago we would not have been waiting in this line period. Because six months ago we would have laughed had someone suggested spending the evening in a room sitting on folding chairs, talking to people we’ve only ever seen at the DMV, without any hope of decent canapés.
ALEXANDRA: Oh, God. You’re right. I’m such a Becky.
MICHAEL: Are you sure you’re using that right?
ALEXANDRA: No. Which makes it doubly true, doesn’t it? I swear I’ve watched Lemonade like twenty times. I’M TRYING, MICHAEL.
MICHAEL: Your heart is in the right place. And tonight, that place is in line waiting to use our voices at a Town Hall. I think Giorgio would be proud of us.
ALEXANDRA: I think Giorgio is delusional. I’ve been extra scared since he visited his sister back in Italy. That tan is doing him no favors — citizen or not. I don’t know what I’d do without him. But when I tell him I’m worried, he just says he’ll sue if he’s detained.
MICHAEL: Assuming we still have a legislative system at that point. This is making my head hurt. And I’m craving a Brazilian roast cappuccino. I wish the club hadn’t volunteered to host the Town Hall. I could really use a night of Bossa Nova and brandy. But I suppose cancelling “Brazil Night” was wise. Especially after the musicians were snatched from the 7 train on their way home from rehearsal last week.
ALEXANDRA: Can we talk about something happy and light for a change?
MICHAEL: Yes, please. I made an appointment with the architect for next week.
ALEXANDRA: Oh. About that.
MICHAEL: This isn’t going to be happy and light, is it?
ALEXANDRA: I’ve been thinking…
MICHAEL: About which wine fridge? Or are you leaning towards the open shelving again?
ALEXANDRA: How hard would it be to build living quarters down there?
MICHAEL: You mean, like a bomb shelter?
ALEXANDRA: Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. But now that you mention it, the space could certainly double as a bomb shelter.
MICHAEL: Double as? What else is the space going to be? The whole reason we bought that plot of land nowhere near any train line was so we could afford to build the perfect home for my Beaujolais and beer brewing equipment.
ALEXANDRA: I know you aren’t practicing, love, but most of your family are. They don’t all have the resources we do. Besides, having a false wall or two couldn’t hurt our resell value.
MICHAEL: So just to summarize here. Last week you questioned my purging anything even vaguely Russian from our home. The week before you were ready to flee with nothing more than we could carry on our own backs. And this week you’re contemplating how building hidden compartments to house my distant Jewish relatives might provide us with financial gain down the line?
ALEXANDRA: Yes? This is a confusing time for me, Michael. Just a few days ago I was watching an interview with George W. He seemed so rational, so intelligent, so… handsome. I can’t lie, for a moment I was sexually attracted to a former president other than Barry. I wanted to wrap my legs around W like a poncho in an inaugural rainstorm. If that isn’t proof the GOP is waging war on vaginas, I don’t know what is.
MICHAEL: That was kinda hot, Alex. I’m back to hoping we don’t make it into this Town Hall so I can take you home, put on a record from your other favorite Barry, and download a little hetero-normative…
ALEXANDRA: I swear 45 is like that frat boy everyone avoided because he went straight for anal and was always saying, “Chicks that listen to Sarah McLaughlin deserve it.” To this day, I still wonder if he’s the real reason I loved Ani DiFranco so much.
MICHAEL: And just like that I’m back on board with waiting in this line forever. I never pegged you for being that kind of girl.
ALEXANDRA: What kind of girl?
MICHAEL: This election, I tell you. Well, this presidency, rather. I guess I’ll have to start calling it that. It’s revealed so much underbelly. I keep finding that the people I thought I knew best… it’s just really bringing everyone’s true colors to light.
ALEXANDRA: Relax. Another girl on the lacrosse team told me. In another lifetime, I might have called her a whore. But thanks to that photo of Kelly Anne kneeling on the Oval Office couch going viral, I’ve learned that my impulse to slut-shame is grounded in internalized misogyny.
MICHAEL: I’m really struggling with this new knowledge, Alex. I just always assumed your ’90s angry woman preferences were more in alignment with mine — the Indigo Girls.
ALEXANDRA: The fact that you think the Indigo Girls were angry makes me love you even more, Michael. You’ve come so far in your evolution. Maybe there’s hope for this country yet. After all, you were a registered Republican when we met. Take me home and put on one of your vintage bowties. I’ll show you the state of my union. Hell, this time I’ll be Michelle and let YOU be Barack.