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Comfortable Shoes

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ROSALIND:
I miss it, you know. Him. I miss being him. Though Celia believes I’m mad, of course.

VIOLA:
Perhaps she has a point?
I often wear shoes when I have need of them, but don’t miss them when there’s a thick rug underfoot, nor when I’m ensconced in my bed at night. I remove them and think no more of it.

ROSALIND:
Yes, well, you’ve company abed so I expect you’ve no mind to notice that your shoes be gone.

VIOLA:
As do you. Or is it in your bed that the seed of dissatisfaction is sown?

ROSALIND:
I’m not dissatisfied… or perhaps I am. I sometimes wonder if dear Orlando might prefer me with my shoes on, so to speak.

VIOLA:
I’m certain that’s not true. He treasures you, as Orsino declares he prizes me.

ROSALIND:
Trinkets and treasures. I can’t help but feel that with fewer adornments I was something more. Wit and passion in the place of coquetry; as though forked garments and fewer layers delivered freedom of movement to my mind—and my tongue! The things that Ganymede could say! Perhaps my respect for Orlando would grow if he loved Ganymede more.