(fade to Jill Clayburgh sitting at Home Base, as a sole piano plays in the background. The spoken parts are upright, the sung parts are in italics.)
Jill: When someone comes to your house and tells you this semi-funny story about the first time he ever French kissed,
And you nod real hard all through it to show there’s no little details that you missed,
And you say “that’s hysterical,” three thousand times and you laugh in all the funny places,
And at the serious parts you try to make these…real…serious…faces.
And when he says “you look like you want pizza,” even though you don’t you lie.
And you say
“sure, why not?” when he says “Hey,
You wanna get high?”
And when you reach over for the ashtray real casual, you let your breasts brush up against his thigh,
And you make this real cute funny thing out of picking ashes that he dropped off his fly.
And when he wants to watch Baretta and The Philadelphia Stories on channel nine,
You,
To be nice, say, “Baretta? Fine.
Not just fine, perfect!
I was also in a Baretta mood.
I love watching the bodies jerk after the bullets hit them.
That’s my favorite thing, next to food.”
And in the next few weeks you’re finding out how stupid his hair looks when he gets out of the shower,
And pretty soon you don’t even have to tell him to please order you a whiskey sour,
And you laugh when he talks like Donald Duck and at jokes that he’s told you before,
And when you’re in the bathroom you stop secretly fearing that he’s going through your underwear drawer.
And you pay all this attention to his big impassioned speech about how they’ve screwed up our air,
And when he’s done, you point to his mouth and say,
“Hey you’ve got something, it’s hanging right there.”
And another thing,
You’ve both confessed you both actually cried at Father Knows Best.
You’re so close, you remember where he left his left glove
And in bed, you find these clever things to say that don’t contain the word “love,”
Like, “because my arm’s asleep, that’s why.”
And pretty soon he’s telling you these stories about how lately he’s getting to know his folks,
And you’re telling him that it really truly upsets you that he smokes,
But still one night as you clean up the Chinese food and the Cokes,
It suddenly occurs to you that he doesn’t get ninety percent of your jokes,
And he didn’t call for three whole days when you had that cold,
And he didn’t disagree when you said, “I’m starting to look old,”
And he actually thinks it’s cool to say “ciao” instead of “goodbye,”
And he didn’t even thank you for that hilarious antique tie.
He’s cold, he’s insensitive, immature, the worst you could have found.
And you realize you love him.
Why? ‘Cause he’s around.
