Marie Antoinette

- (sighs) Marriage.

Marriage, marriage, marriage.

- Aren't we here to discuss our divorce?

- No, let the pen pushers toil over your divorce.

If the same effort had been put into your marriage we wouldn't be sitting here now.

Well, can you honestly say you have tried everything?

- I think we both.

- No, no, not you.

You.

Do you make an effort with your husband?

Show him affection, entertain him.

Take an interest in his hobbies.

- Does he do any of those things with me?

- Men have more important matters to think about.

- Isn't a woman important?

- Of course, she is her husband's help mate.

His consolation, she is his shelter, not a storm.

- What if he is her storm?

- Then she'll draw on her reserves of feminine good temper that make a wife blind to his faults.

- You know what?

I must be a queer, crazy kind of wife because when I look at men, I see no, no, nothing but their faults.

- Relax.

- Their pomposity.

- Sit down.

- Their unwarranted self-satisfied smugness, their clumsiness, their obsessions, their inability to show a modicum of love or tenderness to their wives.

- You go too far, Antoinette.

- Yes, you're right.

It's a fault of mine.

Seems I have many.

The greatest, greatest of which was my stupidity to have been born a woman.

I should have been a clock.

Oh, or lock, or a horse.

Then (imitates horse whinny).

- Stop it.

- Perhaps he would've taken an interest in me.

(door slams open) (intense music)