Kitty. It's a cover for a pin-cushion. Isn't it a dear?
Eddie. I hopes you'll excuse me, but honest I hain't got no more use for dat thing dan a pussy cat has for a hot water bottle.
Kitty (opening larger package). Throw it in the waste basket, Eddie. This is from Warren. I know the handwriting. It looks like a hat. (Opens box and removes wrappings, disclosing a hideous red and orange hat.) Heavens, what a nightmare! Red and orange and a style four years old. It must have come from the five and ten cent store. Look at the plume! Oh!
Eddie (admiring it). Um-um, dat shore am a fine present. Your husband certainly am a man ob taste, he shore am.
Kitty (sarcastically). Yes, he has wonderful taste, hasn't he? A little bizarre. No, it's more than bizarre; it's baroque.
Eddie. It looks like a hat to me.
Kitty. I know what I'll do. (Wraps it up and puts it back in box.)
Eddie. Dat certainly was a nice present, Mis' Williams. Must have cost a heap of money.
Kitty. It probably did. But it isn't my style. And Madame Brunot never exchanges hats. What a shame! I suppose he paid an enormous price for it and I could have satisfied myself with one for half the money. If only men would allow their wives to select their own Christmas presents.
Enter Laura Lacey from R.