Location: Living room, extravagantly upholstered. Ornaments, lots of 'em. Potted plants and vases of spring flowers.
Characters: Annie, 83. Liza, 40ish. Both are drinking tea.
Annie (LEANING BACK IN HER ARMCHAIR): Right, now Easter's over, I'm on the minge.
Liza (SPLUTTERS): Pardon?
Annie: I'm on the minge.
Liza: I'm not sure what you mean, Annie ...?
Annie: I'm not spending another penny. I'm being mingy. Haven't you heard that expression?
Liza: Yes, but, er, minge isn't the same as mingy.
Annie: Of course it is.
Liza: No, it really isn't.
Annie: Well, what's a minge when it's at home?
Liza (VERY EMBARRASSED): Umm, well, you're, er, sitting on it.
Annie: An armchair?
Liza: No, it's, ummm, more physical.
Annie (THINKS BRIEFLY): A bottom? A minge is a bottom?
Liza: Not exactly ...
ANNIE PONDERS THIS.
Annie: Ohhh, I see! (BEAT.) Oh heck, I've told everyone I was on the minge. I told the milkman this morning. And the chiropodist.
Liza: I'm sure they'll have worked it out.
Annie: You didn't.
Liza: No, well -
Annie: I'll explain next time I see them.
Annie: I'm always doing that.
Annie: Getting my words muddled.
Annie: Yes. Only last week I called that Graham Cameron a wanker.
Liza: Graham Cameron?
Annie: Him as wants to be Prime Minister.
Liza: You mean -
Annie: And our Maureen said "Auntie Annie, you can't call people wankers." And I said "He's an idiot. Of course I can call him a wanker."
Liza: And what did Maureen say?
Annie: She told me what a wanker was.
Liza (FAINTLY): Oh -
Annie: And, you know, I just couldn't visualise it.