Paige Connor spent the better part of three decades as a downtrodden
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Start: I used to have the worst hair. Giant. Frazzled monstrosity. And can you guess why? Because your father was having an affair with the family beautician.
[... ... ...]
End: The whole world was in on it. But I kept on going to her. Confiding all my love secrets to the unknown nemesis wielding a curling iron and a bristle brush.
For full extended monologue, please refer to the script edition cited here: Mac, Taylor. Hir. Northwestern University Press, Evanston, IL. 2015. Pp. 80-81.
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