Props

(Lights up on Jack & Megan's living room. Wrapping paper covers the table, weighed down here and there with rolls of tape and pairs of scissors. Jack is contorted over a partially-wrapped food processor, gripping it with both hands to keep his careful work from falling apart)
JACK:
Babe, can you pass me the tape?
(Megan holds out a roll of Scotch tape, without looking up from the card she's writing)
JACK:
...
Can you...um...?
(Megan looks up and sees Jack's pained expression, as a single bead of sweat hangs threateningly on the tip of his nose)
MEGAN:
Are you sure about *that* wrapping paper?
(Blackout)
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