Scene: A Cozy Italian Restaurant
Cathy sits primly, hands folded, the picture of poised restraint. George, sweating slightly, fumbles with his napkin.
George Costanza: (nervously) So, uh, Cathy... this is nice, huh? Very romantic. Not that I’m saying anything has to happen—just... you know, candles, tablecloths... no pressure!
Cathy: (smiling tightly) Oh, George, I’d never feel pressured. It’s just refreshing to meet someone so... unguarded. Like an open book. A very loud, frayed book missing a few pages.
George: (blinking) Missing pages? What’s that supposed to mean?
Cathy: Oh, nothing. It’s just... you’re so wonderfully transparent. You say exactly what you’re thinking, even when you probably shouldn’t.
George: (defensive) I—I think before I speak! I’m a thinker! People say that about me.
Cathy: Oh, I’m sure they do. In a very... supportive tone, no doubt. (takes a dainty sip of wine)
George: (gesturing wildly) You think people mock me? That’s crazy! Who’s mocking me?
Cathy: Oh, I didn’t mean mock. That’s such a harsh word. Let’s say... observe. I’m sure people observe you a lot. From a safe distance.
George: (leaning in) What kind of distance? What does that even mean?!
Cathy: (with exaggerated patience) Oh, it’s not a bad thing, George. You have such a commanding presence. It’s the sort of energy that makes people... hesitant. You know, like they’d rather just let you... (waves hand vaguely) do your thing.
George: (now sweating profusely) My thing? What’s my thing? What are you trying to say?!
Cathy: (tilts her head sympathetically) Nothing at all! It’s just lovely how you always take charge. Like when you ordered for me earlier. I absolutely adore marinara sauce. Really.
George: (panicking) You don’t like marinara?! Why didn’t you say something?!
Cathy: Oh, it’s fine, George. I’d never want to interrupt your flow. I mean, you were so confident about it, who am I to crush that?
George: (grabbing his head) Crush?! Who’s talking about crushing?!
Cathy: (gently pats his arm) George, relax. It’s not like everything’s about you. (beat) Although... isn’t it fascinating how it always seems to end up that way?
The Waiter Arrives
Waiter: (smiling) How’s everything tasting so far?
George: (snapping) She hates marinara! She thinks I’m a loud, frayed book missing pages, and now she hates marinara!
Cathy: (serenely) Oh, I wouldn’t say I hate marinara. It’s just... bold. Not unlike George himself.
Waiter: (awkwardly) Uh... would you like something else, ma’am?
Cathy: Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone. George went to so much effort to decide for me.
George: (desperate) Get her the Alfredo! Or the pesto! Cathy, what do you want?!
Cathy: (smiling sweetly) Oh, George. If only it were that simple.
Later, at the Doorstep
George: (fumbling) So... did you have a good time?
Cathy: Oh, absolutely. It was such a memorable evening. (pauses) You’re very... you, George.
George: (confused) What does that mean? Is that good or bad?
Cathy: (grinning) Oh, I wouldn’t want to ruin the mystery. Goodnight, George.
George: (as she walks away) What mystery?! I need to know!
Scene: The Same Cozy Italian Restaurant – Round Two
George is dressed sharper this time, determined to impress. Cathy arrives fashionably late, her smile as enigmatic as ever. George stands nervously, ready to overcompensate.
George’s Inner Monologue: Alright, Costanza, tonight’s the night. She won’t outsmart me this time. I’m the puppet master here. She’s the puppet. I’ll make every move flawless. No breadstick blunders. No marinara meltdowns. Let’s do this.
Cathy: (sitting down gracefully) Oh, George, I just love how... eager you are. So refreshing. Like a puppy that just found a new shoe to chew.
George: (gritting his teeth) Well, Cathy, I’m a man of action. And decisions. Strong ones. Speaking of which, I’ve already ordered the wine. (smirks) Hope you like a bold Chianti!
Cathy: (raising an eyebrow) Chianti? Oh, how... rustic. A bold choice for someone who called himself a “white wine guy” last time.
George: (panicking) Did I say white wine?! That was a joke! A joke, Cathy! I’m a red wine guy—always have been! Chianti is... my thing!
Cathy: (smiling) Of course it is, George. It’s so... you.
The Inner Monologue Spirals
George’s Inner Monologue: She’s testing me again. Chianti? Rustic?! What does that even mean? Does she think I’m some kind of peasant? No, no. She’s playing me. Not tonight, Cathy. Not tonight.
Cathy’s Phone Becomes the Enemy
As they peruse the menu, Cathy’s phone buzzes. She glances at it with an amused smirk and types back quickly.
George: (leaning forward) Everything okay? Important messages?
Cathy: Oh, nothing you need to worry about, George. Just... updates.
George: (eyes narrowing) Updates? Like what? Weather updates? Stock market updates? Updates about me?
Cathy: (calmly) Oh, George, don’t be ridiculous. Why would anyone be updating anyone about you?
George’s Inner Monologue: That’s exactly what someone would say if they were updating someone about me. Is she live-tweeting this? Is there a hashtag? #CostanzaMeltdown?! No. Focus, George. Stay cool.
George Overthinks Every Decision
The waiter arrives, and George suddenly feels the weight of every choice.
Waiter: Are we ready to order?
George: (nervously) Uh, yeah, yeah, sure. I’ll go with the... uh... (glances at Cathy for approval, sees her watching intently) the chicken parm! Wait, no. Too predictable. The risotto! No, wait. Too... risotto-y. What do you think, Cathy?
Cathy: (leaning back, enjoying his struggle) Oh, George, I’d never tell you what to choose. I love how you make decisions so... boldly.
George’s Inner Monologue: Boldly?! She’s mocking me! She’s daring me to screw this up. Alright, fine. Watch this.
George: (suddenly confident) I’ll take the veal piccata! How’s that for bold?!
Waiter: Excellent choice, sir. And for you, ma’am?
Cathy: (smiling) Oh, I’ll just have the salad. It’s... safer.
George’s Inner Monologue: Safer?! What’s wrong with the veal? Is she implying it’s dangerous? Did I just order the riskiest thing on the menu? Am I about to eat something reckless?!
Cathy’s "Surprise" Texts Build Tension
As they wait for the food, Cathy’s phone buzzes again. She types rapidly, occasionally glancing at George.
George: (trying to sound casual) So, who are you texting? A friend? Your... mother? Someone else?
Cathy: (cryptically) Oh, just someone who’s... very interested in what’s happening here.
George’s Inner Monologue: She’s telling someone about me! Who is it? Her best friend? A podcast host? A psychiatrist?
Suddenly, Cathy excuses herself to take a call. George tries to eavesdrop, but all he catches is, “Yes, perfect. They’ll be here soon.”
George: (to himself) They?! Who’s they? What’s happening soon?! Is this an ambush? A double date? A... sting operation?*
The "Big Reveal" – Cathy’s Grand Finale
Moments later, the lights dim, and a mariachi band storms in, serenading George with Guantanamera.
George: (jumping up) What—what is this?! Cathy, did you arrange this?!
Cathy: (grinning) Oh, George, I just thought you deserved something... special. After all, you’re such a bold decision-maker.
George: (panicking) A mariachi band?! In an Italian restaurant?! Do you know what kind of looks we’re getting?! This is madness!
Cathy: (raising her glass) Oh, George, you’re so wonderfully... memorable.
As the band plays on, George sits back down, his face a mix of fury, confusion, and the faintest hint of begrudging pride.
Closing Inner Monologue
George’s Inner Monologue: Okay, Costanza, this wasn’t exactly what you planned, but... she did all this for you. A mariachi band in an Italian place? That’s... bold. Memorable. Yeah. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am the guy who can pull this off. Yeah. That’s right. Look at me! The King of Bold!
George awkwardly claps along with the music as Cathy sips her wine, victorious.
Scene: A Fancy Art Gallery Date
Cathy has chosen the venue: an avant-garde art gallery opening. George, in a blazer one size too small, looks out of place amidst the cultured crowd sipping wine and nodding at sculptures of household appliances.
George: (adjusting his collar) So, Cathy, this is... uh... fancy. You like this kind of thing? You know, art?
Cathy: Oh, George, of course. I thought this would be... challenging for you. And you love a challenge, don’t you?
George: (already sweating) Challenging? Please! I know art! I get art! (pointing at a sculpture of a giant toothbrush) Look at that! That’s... uh... society’s obsession with... dental hygiene?
Cathy: (smirking) Oh, George. How insightful. I think you’ve just uncovered the hidden plaque of capitalism.
George: (nodding, overcompensating) Exactly! That’s what I was saying. Hidden plaque! Brilliant!
Cathy: (raising her glass) To your genius, George. It’s so rare to meet someone who can... see so much.
George’s Inner Monologue: She thinks I’m a genius! Or... is she mocking me? No, no, she’s serious. I’m insightful. People see it. I’m deep!
The First Disaster: An Interactive Performance Piece
They stumble across a bizarre installation involving a man in a leotard pretending to be a fax machine. He beeps and hands out blank sheets of paper to the crowd.
George: (nervously) So, uh, Cathy, what’s... this supposed to be?
Cathy: (delighted) Oh, it’s an interactive commentary on the obsolescence of communication, George. It’s brilliant. Don’t you think?
George: (fake laughing) Oh, yeah. Brilliant. A guy in tights acting like a fax machine—genius! I love it.
Performance Artist: (beeping at George) Please feed me a message to send!
George: (panicking) A message?! Uh, okay... uh... (scribbles on a sheet of paper and jams it into the guy’s hand) There.
Cathy: (peering over) “Please stop looking at me”? Oh, George, how... vulnerable. You’re really baring your soul tonight.
George: (frantic) That’s not what I wrote! He must’ve faxed it wrong!
Cathy: (grinning) Of course. It must be the... fax machine’s fault.
George’s Inner Monologue: It’s like she can see inside my brain. Is she psychic?! Did she hire this guy just to mess with me?! Focus, George! You’re in control here.
The Second Disaster: The Gallery Owner
Cathy introduces George to the posh gallery owner, a tall, thin man with a monocle (because of course he has a monocle).
Cathy: George, this is Nigel. He curated this evening. Nigel, meet George—he has very strong opinions about art.
Nigel: (eyebrows raised) Oh, indeed? Do tell.
George: (sweating profusely) Uh, yeah! Art is... it’s... like life, you know? But better! And, uh, this exhibit? Incredible. Especially the... (desperately points at a canvas) ...the blue one.
Nigel: (deadpan) That’s the fire extinguisher.
Cathy: (beaming) Oh, George, I love how you see beauty in the most... practical things.
George: (fuming) I knew it was a fire extinguisher! I was just... making a statement! You know, about... modern life. Fire! Extinguishers! Society’s need to—
Nigel: (bored) Fascinating. Enjoy the evening.
George’s Inner Monologue: That guy thinks I’m an idiot. But Cathy doesn’t. Right? Or does she? Is she texting about this right now?!
The Third Disaster: The “Accidental” Auction
Midway through the night, Cathy drags George into a silent auction. He nervously fidgets while others confidently scribble bids. Cathy hands him a paddle with a sly smile.
Cathy: Oh, George, you should bid on something! I bet you’d love owning a bold piece of art.
George: (panicking) Me? Bid? I don’t know... these people, they’ve got money, Cathy. I’ve got a system for parking tickets.
Cathy: (sweetly) Oh, George, don’t be shy. It’s just money. You can’t put a price on art.
George’s Inner Monologue: Can’t put a price on art? That’s exactly what this is! That’s the whole point! She’s testing me again. Alright, I’ll show her. I’ll bid. A small bid. A smart bid. Just enough to impress her without bankrupting myself.
He raises his paddle hesitantly.
Auctioneer: Sold! To the gentleman in the blazer for $20,000!
George: (horrified) WHAT?! I was scratching my nose!
Cathy: (applauding) Oh, George, you’ve done it! You’ve won the most daring piece of the evening!
George: What did I buy?!
Auctioneer: The giant toothbrush sculpture. A true masterpiece.
George: (sinking into his seat) Oh, God. I’ve spent 20 grand on a toothbrush.
Cathy: (patting his arm) Don’t worry, George. It’s an investment. And it’ll look so bold in your tiny apartment.
Closing Scene: George’s Final Breakdown
As they leave the gallery, George struggles to carry the oversized toothbrush sculpture, while Cathy sips champagne, amused.
George: (huffing) You think this is funny? Huh? My entire savings on a toothbrush?! This is your fault, Cathy! You dragged me here! You... provoked me!
Cathy: (innocently) Oh, George, I’d never provoke you. You’re just so... impulsive. It’s what makes you so exciting.
George: (snapping) Impulsive?! You think this is exciting?! I’m lugging a toothbrush the size of a canoe through the city like some kind of lunatic! People are staring!
Cathy: (smiling) They’re not staring, George. They’re... admiring.
George’s Inner Monologue: Admiring?! They’re not admiring! They’re judging! This is a nightmare! I’m a toothbrush guy now! That’s my identity! Toothbrush Costanza! Forever!
As Cathy waves down a taxi, George mutters to himself, still clutching the sculpture. The scene fades out with him shouting at the cab driver about how to fit it into the trunk.
