Scene: A coffee shop, mid-morning. George Costanza sits at a small table, nervously sipping his coffee. Mrs. Malaprop is beside him, peering at the menu, and Reverend Spooner is seated across, looking contemplative.
George: (grumbling) I don’t even know why I’m here. I don’t need this kind of pressure. You know, this whole "socialising" thing is just a big scam. You meet people, they disappoint you, and then what? You’re stuck splitting a check for a muffin you didn’t even want.
Mrs. Malaprop: Oh, Mr. Costanzo, don’t be so catawampus! A little human intercourse is good for the solar plexus.
George: (choking on his coffee) Human what?!
Reverend Spooner: Mrs. Malaprop, I think you mean “social interaction.” You wouldn’t want to pervert the inversion of your intentions!
Mrs. Malaprop: (indignantly) My intentions are as pure as a pigeon’s snow, Reverend! And you’d do well not to spoonerise my good name into the ground.
Reverend Spooner: My apologies, madame! But I must say, you do have a tendency to bend the natives of words.
George: (throwing up his hands) I don’t even know what’s happening here! Are we talking about pigeons, spoons, or—what was it—human intercourse? You’re both giving me agita!
Mrs. Malaprop: Oh, Mr. Costanzo, you’re such a hypochondrius. You should find your zest and zealotry for life!
George: (sputtering) Hypochondrius?! You think I want this anxiety? This is hereditary! My parents are masters at creating anxiety. They could teach a class!
Reverend Spooner: Well, Mr. Costanza, perhaps you could invert your pessimism. Instead of being down in the jumps, why not look at the fright bride side?
George: (confused) The what side?
Mrs. Malaprop: Oh, Reverend, you’ve got your spoons in a twist again! He means the bright side, Mr. Costanzo.
George: (sighing) Bright side? What bright side? I live in a one-bedroom apartment with a view of a brick wall! The highlight of my week is finding a parking spot within walking distance of my building.
Reverend Spooner: Ah, but think of it this way, dear sir: your life is a glass half foam!
George: (deadpan) Half foam? Yeah, sounds about right. A cup full of foam and no coffee underneath. That’s my life.
Mrs. Malaprop: Oh, don’t be such a purveyor of doom, Mr. Costanzo. Why, if I were you, I’d seize the day with both hamstrings and never let go!
George: (incredulous) Both hamstrings? What is that even supposed to mean? I’m not a gymnast!
Reverend Spooner: What she means, Mr. Costanza, is to embrace life with both hands. Though, her version does conjure an amusing image!
George: (grabbing his coffee and standing up) You two are impossible! I came here for a quiet cup of coffee, and now my brain feels like it’s been run over by a thesaurus!
Mrs. Malaprop: (smiling) Well, Mr. Costanzo, don’t let the pot call the kettle back!
Reverend Spooner: Indeed, George, it’s important to remember that we’re all in the sane boat—though sometimes it does feel like a tipsy flip!
George: (storming out) I’m out of here. Good luck with your human intercourse or whatever this is.
Mrs. Malaprop: (calling after him) Mind the epiphanies, Mr. Costanzo!
Reverend Spooner: (shaking his head) What a man of great frustrative energy!
Mrs. Malaprop: A true conundrum wrapped in a paragon, Reverend. A true conundrum indeed.
(They sip their coffee in amused silence as George can be seen pacing outside the window, talking animatedly to himself.)
