INT. THE AARONS LAUNDRY ROOM
WENDI (40’s, but totally looks 20’s) enters and is surprised to see husband CHRIS.
What are you doing in the laundry room? I didn’t think you knew this room existed. Are you lost?
For your information, I just finished installing a motion detector light.
Why? In case a burglar breaks in to wash my whites? If that happens, let him do it. Maybe he’ll be able to get this Thin Mints stain out of my good bra.
Why is there a Thin….you know what, never mind. The motion detector light is to save energy because it only comes on when someone’s in here.
Oh, that sounds like a good idea! Let’s leave the room so I can walk back in and try it out. OK, here I go…the light’s coming on and why is it flickering like that?
I haven’t been able to figure that out yet. I’m still enjoying the fact that I didn’t electrocute myself or cause a city-wide blackout.
Yeah, good job on that. But seriously, it’s like “Midnight Express” in here with that flickering fluorescent light. I feel like I’m ten seconds away from a Turkish prison guard searching my body cavity for rubber gloves filled with heroin. Hey, is a womb considered an extra body cavity? If so, that plus my remedial Spanish and mad Tae-Bo skills means I can probably earn quite a bit of cash-ola as a blonde drug mule. Something to consider for our retirement fund, my love.
(long pause) Maybe electrocution wouldn’t have been such a bad way to go.
But you know, now that I think about it, maybe we can use this flickering interrogation light to our advantage. Like pull the boys in here for a little Q&A when nobody’ll fess up to making a stain on the new rug. What do you think? You can be the good cop. I’ll call you “Tuggins.”
Plus, how awesome would it be to get Mandy Sherman in here, sit her down next to the dryer and then interrogate her about what she really did with the 3rd grade class fund. That wrinkly dimwit would crack in under five minutes. Seriously, she almost wets her yoga pants if the car pool lane moves too quickly.
Can you please stop this? I really don’t think Mandy Sherman is an embezzler.
Yeah, right. She paid for her breast enhancement with all of the money she made from her Pampered Chef parties. Open your eyes, man. SPATULAS DO NOT BUY BOOBS.
Oh, my God.
See? This is why I have to be the bad cop. I usually smell like a bar and I’m very good at pretending to be clinically insane.
Idea: what about putting a two-way mirror over the washing machine?
I’m going to turn the light off now.
Fine. But can I ask you a few detailed questions first?
If one of them is about where I’ll be sleeping tonight, I think you already know the answer.
Yeah, I guess I do. Far away from my multiple body cavities.
Good night, blonde drug mule.
Good night, Tuggins.