“The Yogurt Summit”
June has called her roommate, Kayla, to the kitchen table for what she is treating as a formal proceeding. Someone has been eating her labeled strawberry yogurt. June wants a confession — and she has evidence.
Sit down. No — don’t make tea. This is not a tea conversation.
On Sunday there were four. I counted them, because I count things now — that is a thing you have turned me into. This morning: two.
So either strawberry yogurt is now reproducing in reverse, or somebody in this apartment — and there are exactly two of us, I ran the numbers — has been eating the Chobani with my name on it. In Sharpie. That I laminated.
I’m not upset. Do I look upset? This is just my face, having a completely reasonable, well-regulated feeling.
But you should know I put a camera in the fridge. It is disguised as an egg. And Kayla — it saw everything.
So this is the part where you confess. Confess now, and I swear on my laminated label, we will never speak of the egg.
How to Play It
Objective: get Kayla to confess. June isn’t venting — she is prosecuting a case, and she genuinely believes she is being gracious about it.
The turn: the reveal of the egg camera. Up to there it could be a normal roommate spat; that line tips her from petty into gloriously unhinged, and the piece should escalate from mock-calm to true zealotry.
Play the calm, not the crazy. The comedy lives in how reasonable she thinks she is being. The more sincerely she believes “this is just my face,” the funnier the whole thing lands. Don’t push — let the escalation come from the stakes, not the volume.
Who it suits: a comedic actor with sharp timing and a strong deadpan. Ideal as the one-minute comedic piece in an audition book, or a bright contrast to a heavier dramatic selection.
Want Will to Coach You Through It?
A monologue is a two-person scene where the other person never speaks. Working it 1-on-1 with a working actor is the fastest way to make it land.