(or: ONE OF THOSE THINGS)
The skit is set in a fast-food restaurant. Hulda and her friend come in and place some plastic bags on the floor next to a table, then drape their coats carefully across a chair. The friend goes to the counter and places an order. Hulda sits down and looks around. She fiddles with her hair a bit, looks at the mirror wall and greets a man who is sitting at the next table with the kind of smile that suggests that she’s not sure if she knows him or not. The friend comes back with chicken and fries, sits down and looks around. She fiddles with her hair a bit also and then they begin.
Hulda: This place isn’t bad. Not bad at all, considering.
The friend: God, yes. So you were starting to tell me about the dress. Right so you hardly had the guts to try it on?
And I would be ready to die.
I’d be really into it.
I’d be really into anything, for that matter.
Like digging my outstretched fingers into something hot.
Something hot and quick that would go insane with the pain.
And would choke.
And would try to bite.
I thought I told you not to bite.
I’m going to have to punish you now, I’m afraid.
I’m afraid you’re going to have to be punished.
The friend: That’s excellent. I mean, obviously you didn’t need to worry you must have known that you’d fit into it. So are you going to wear it?
Hulda: Yeah, I’ve been thinking I should wear it to the dance but Jesus, what the hell am I doing here, I mean one more ounce and I won’t fit into it. You'll have to finish my fries. I just can’t bear the thought of not fitting into it on the day of the dance.
I’d go berserk.
And then I’d be an animal of some kind.
And you would be my trainer.
You would show up unexpectedly and I’d go crazy with fear.
I’d get to be an endangered species.
I’d get to be a hunted prey waiting impatiently for your trap.
And you couldn’t stand the wait. So once again I’d let you do it.
But you wouldn’t be satisfied with just a tiny nibble. And you would say that it was OK for me to bite. That I should try to bite.
But I wouldn’t bite just to make you more excited, I would lose myself in watching the juice run down your chin when you tried and tried to swallow so that you wouldn’t have to answer with your mouth full because I’m asking you if you’ve done all your Christmas shopping.
Hulda: Well that doesn’t count with you because you’re so damn pragmatic. You and Ingi should definitely come over around Christmas Baldur would love it. We'll have to get together soon, the four of us. Have a drink and relax and paint the town red or something.
But you'll never find out because you’re both blind and deaf, remember? You're a little kitten, Hulda, and you don’t know anything, you don’t have a clue about what’s going on until I’m holding you down in the bucket and only then do you show a sign of life, when you start struggling in the bucket. And Ingi and Baldur tape the whole thing.
The friend: No, I don’t know.
Hulda: It’s just one of those things.
Translation: Alda Sigmundsdottir