Monologues for women | "A Good Pudding" by Gabriel Davis
A Good Pudding Monologue
Monologues for women
by Gabriel Davis
I used to be boy crazy. Now I’ll settle for a good pudding. I was crazy for Ronnie Collins. Cutest bloke in Year 11. Sits to my left in English. Been mad for him since Year 5. But I’d never said hello.
Yesterday, he looks over at me “Eh, you there,” he says “Why’re you always staring at me?”
Time seemed to slow. I observed my heart seemed to relocate to my throat. It was beating hard in my throat. Blocking all the airflow. I opened my mouth and moved my lips to form words. But no sound escaped.
“Are you lip syncing something?” He asked me. Well, I could move my head left and right, left and right. “Alright then, so I guess you fancy me, huh?”
A few cheeky girls who sit behind me were snickering now.
He pulled out a piece of paper, the school dinner menu. “They’re serving Roasted Chicken Legs with Jacket Potatoes and savory tomato rice. Plus a warm Ginger Sponge Pudding.” He said, “How would you like to join me?”
My heart had descended a bit allowing a little air to squeak out “My mum sent me with a packed lunch.”
“Bollox,” he said “You’re with me now. My lady eats a hot dinner. Only the best for you.” He flashed his smile and waved a five pound note around.
Suddenly the daft cows behind me weren’t snickering anymore, now where they?
The bell rang. He offered me his arm. We walked down the hall and his mates followed behind us. It was like the Queen’s Birthday Parade. All eyes were on us. On him. On me.
At lunch, he made his mates sit at the other end of the table. “So we can have a proper date.” he said. He began devouring his chicken leg, picking it up with his hand and eating it like a king at a medieval banquet. “Go on then,” he said “tuck in. Don’t want it to go cold.”
I tried my best to be ladylike and take small, dainty bites.
Then he started in. “Okay, if you’re to be my girlfriend, I want to get a few things sorted up front. I have five rules:
Rule one: I go to RollerWorld with my mates every Saturday. Don’t try and come between me, my mates and my skates.
Two: Don’t get between me and my favorite sports. I like to do rugby, darts, cricket, golf, table tennis, badminton, squash, rounders, hockey, billiards and curling. After I do all of those each week, we can go to a movie. I like movies about sports.
Three: Don’t turn out to be a nutter. If I find out you’re off your trolley, I'll sack ya as a girlfriend and block ya on Facebook.
Four: Don’t criticize me. Ever.
Five: Don’t be high maintenance.”
Around three, I had felt my hand getting itchy. At four, I found it twitching. At five, he found it had firmly shoved the ginger pudding in his face.”
Yep, I gave him a good pudding. Best pudding I never had.
Yesterday, he looks over at me “Eh, you there,” he says “Why’re you always staring at me?”
Time seemed to slow. I observed my heart seemed to relocate to my throat. It was beating hard in my throat. Blocking all the airflow. I opened my mouth and moved my lips to form words. But no sound escaped.
“Are you lip syncing something?” He asked me. Well, I could move my head left and right, left and right. “Alright then, so I guess you fancy me, huh?”
A few cheeky girls who sit behind me were snickering now.
He pulled out a piece of paper, the school dinner menu. “They’re serving Roasted Chicken Legs with Jacket Potatoes and savory tomato rice. Plus a warm Ginger Sponge Pudding.” He said, “How would you like to join me?”
My heart had descended a bit allowing a little air to squeak out “My mum sent me with a packed lunch.”
“Bollox,” he said “You’re with me now. My lady eats a hot dinner. Only the best for you.” He flashed his smile and waved a five pound note around.
Suddenly the daft cows behind me weren’t snickering anymore, now where they?
The bell rang. He offered me his arm. We walked down the hall and his mates followed behind us. It was like the Queen’s Birthday Parade. All eyes were on us. On him. On me.
At lunch, he made his mates sit at the other end of the table. “So we can have a proper date.” he said. He began devouring his chicken leg, picking it up with his hand and eating it like a king at a medieval banquet. “Go on then,” he said “tuck in. Don’t want it to go cold.”
I tried my best to be ladylike and take small, dainty bites.
Then he started in. “Okay, if you’re to be my girlfriend, I want to get a few things sorted up front. I have five rules:
Rule one: I go to RollerWorld with my mates every Saturday. Don’t try and come between me, my mates and my skates.
Two: Don’t get between me and my favorite sports. I like to do rugby, darts, cricket, golf, table tennis, badminton, squash, rounders, hockey, billiards and curling. After I do all of those each week, we can go to a movie. I like movies about sports.
Three: Don’t turn out to be a nutter. If I find out you’re off your trolley, I'll sack ya as a girlfriend and block ya on Facebook.
Four: Don’t criticize me. Ever.
Five: Don’t be high maintenance.”
Around three, I had felt my hand getting itchy. At four, I found it twitching. At five, he found it had firmly shoved the ginger pudding in his face.”
Yep, I gave him a good pudding. Best pudding I never had.