Salty Bitch
PICKLE and OLIVE circle each other in a boxing ring.
PICKLE: Come on.
OLIVE: You come on.
PICKLE: No you.
OLIVE: Fine, I’m gonna.
PICKLE: Good! I’m gonna too.
OLIVE: I’m gonna first.
PICKLE lunges at OLIVE with ineffectual momentum. Regardless, OLIVE screams in fear and runs away.
PICKLE: Okay.
OLIVE: I wasn’t sc-
PICKLE: You were.
OLIVE: I’m not!
PICKLE: WELL, I AM!
OLIVE: Wait! You’re scared?
PICKLE: Yes.
OLIVE: Me too!
PICKLE: I don’t want to fight. Why are we even fighting?
OLIVE: I don’t know. It’s like- people always put us against each other. They compare me to you, but I-
PICKLE: We aren’t similar at all.
OLIVE: Not at all.
PICKLE: They say you call me a-
BOTH: “Salty Bitch.”
OLIVE: Wow.
PICKLE: Wow, is right.
OLIVE: So, what if we-
PICKLE: Date?
OLIVE: Oh. Oh, no. I was going to say like- be peeps.
PICKLE: Right, right. Totally. Haha. Dating would be- crazy.
They both like the idea.
OLIVE: Like, what if you got pregnant? Can you imagine our kid?
PICKLE: Ew.
OLIVE: So gross.
PICKLE: —
OLIVE: —
PICKLE: Hey, do you want to share an Uber? I’m going downtown-
OLIVE: Yeah yeah. Cool.
They both exit the ring. The sexual tension is palpable.