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Ultra thin, Performa, love,

jeans, pure sensation,

stimulating, classic, extra large,

extra strong, tropical,

tropical color...

Invisible, pleasure max...

And no latex.

We have to choose.

I'd go for tropical, green apple or strawberry.

I don't understand colored ones.

- What's to understand? - What's the point?

It's marketing.

I can understand wanting transparent ones.

Okay, let's carry on as usual.

Still clinging to our petty bourgeois ways.

Heaven forbid we show a little oomph.

Where were you? You slept two hours. What did you take?

Xanax, benzodiazepine and diazepam.

Lots of X's and Z's.

I'd stick to the normal one:

medium size, lubricated and transparent.

Let's forget it. It's not very nice on a first date.

- What? - Turning up with condoms in your pocket.

- She's not going to search us. - I'd like to be searched.

If the search is done skillfully,

it's like a caress.

No, guys. It'll look bad.

But if we score and don't have one, we'll look like a rookie.

And we'll end up just snuggling up in bed?

Why not?

Let's get every type of condom...

Let's go. Life is a series of opportunities.

Why not get one of each?

Why not seek out other forms of ourselves?

I don't like it when you turn gender-fluid and multi-gender.

Add "polyamorous."

You're scared, eh? To stray from the usual binaries?

That's enough! Choose one. It's late. Read them out again.

Right.

Ultra thin, Performa, love,

jeans, pure sensation,

stimulating, classic, extra large,

extra strong, tropical,

tropical color,

invisible, pleasure max, no latex.

You choose.

- I insist on tropical. - I'm opting out.

Just pay.

We're going to miss the derby.

Tomorrow's a boring Sunday. Shopping mall?

Yeah, let's seek out happiness among people's sadness.

I was thinking we could grab a kebab.

It's strange going to her place for dinner.

I'd have preferred to eat out.

It's better this way.

No fussing over the check, dithering about going home.

We're already nice and cozy.

- Love is not supposed to be cozy. - But not un-cozy either.

Madly

Cerilli, De Luca...

My mind's gone blank.

Top floor, so it'll be apartment 10 or 11.

So either Sala or Coccumella.

- If it's Coccumella, I'm off. - Let's try Sala.

- Yes? - Piero.

Right stairway, top floor.

Geez, he's punctual.

No, no, girls. It's too dark.

Yes. Feels like a nightclub.

I like it.

It blurs roles, blends identities,

sweeps away shadows.

We're all alike in the dark.

- Are you smoking again? - I never stopped.

Turn the big light on.

- No, that's too much. - Spotlights?

Light from above? Are you crazy? It mortifies the complexion.

That should be it.

I feel uneasy.

Perhaps it's Morse code.

- Candles? - Oh, yeah.

Invitation to dinner, candles... Let's remove our panties too.

We're not wearing any, in fact.

Really?

Only joking, prudes.

- I insist on having candles. - Forget it.

This miniskirt-and-ankle-boots look is a bit ambiguous.

- We are ambiguous. - You might be.

- He's coming up. - Last-minute changes suck.

I'd wear this.

Why should we always try to make him happy?

It's just a long sweater.

A short one. Even more ambiguous.

Female animals do absurd things to attract males.

Precisely. Animals.

At least the Che Guevara T-shirt.

Red and ordinary, but at least it's revolutionary.

No.

It's open.

- Intriguing. - Let's go in.

Wait, wait, wait...

Daisies. How sad.

- Why do you always belittle me? - Put your hands down.

Hold it.

A bad thought can ruin the evening.

Let's all repeat that.

A bad thought can ruin the evening.

It's too late when it's out.

It's too late when it's out.

- Come on! - Come on.

Hey!

Hi. Come in. Be right there.

"Hey"?

Why did we say "hey"?

Hey, ouch.

Off to a great start. Well done, everybody.

- Are you okay? - Yeah.

- He looks nervous. - Yes.

He's bumping into everything like a hornet.

I told you it was too dark.

Not again!

- Don't forget, cheerful. - Inclusive.

- Calm. - Welcoming.

He's in our home. Can't get any more welcoming...

Here I am. Hi.

- A bit too dark? - A bit.

I was looking for a light-and-shade effect,

like Caravaggio style, but it didn't work.

Hi.

Jesus, what a limp kiss.

Middle school style.

What lovely daisies. Thanks.

I really like daisies.

It's a really hardy flower. That's unusual.

No one buys them as a gift anymore.

All these presents!

- Some wine? - Yes, please.

Nice place you've got.

I can tell it's yours.

Lots of color, lots of feeling.

Lots of gray too.

Too much gray?

- No, no. - It used to be a washhouse.

It's nice. Gray goes well with everything.

That's black.

He's already flustered.

Careful, guys. She's the "woody, tobacco, hint of vanilla" kind.

To...

Okay, cheers.

What's up?

I suffer from thread-phobia.

- Sorry? - Thread-phobia.

I blame a nun in primary school.

If she saw a loose thread, she'd punish us

and make us stand in a corner for being slovenly.

Sorry.

Was it strange inviting you to my home? Be honest.

Strange?

No. Why?

Spares us from booking a table on Saturday evening.

That's right.

- It was a nice idea. - Okay.

No hidden agenda.

Yes, of course.

I just like staying home.

- Sounds like we have social problems. - Why? We like staying home.

So do hikikomori.

I mean, I like my nest.

- Did she say "nest"? - I fear so.

Nest, as in...

I mean the concept.

The idea of it being, I mean, all...

- A nest. - Enveloping...

- Yes, a nest. - Yeah.

- I'll check on the lasagna. - Right.

Everything but the nest!

No nests, please! Come on!

Let's get the lasagna knife, castrate him, and get it over with.

What are we doing?

We don't know him. He's a stranger.

How often have we stood on the threshold of a home?

How often have we walked into someone's life,

eaten other people's food, sat on a stranger's sofa?

Said hello, said farewell.

We really can't trust strangers.

They occupy space, invade boundaries,

claim rights.

In the end, you become the stranger.

Why does everything repeat itself?

If that's what's happening here, I'm going to bed.

- Some nibbles. - Thanks.

- Shall I pour more? - Yes.

Why don't we get him to pour it?

Shall we put his slippers on too?

Why did we bother reading Carla Lonzi's books on feminism?

To wave the promise of a future of cooked meals at him?

He's a guest.

Carla Lonzi wouldn't throw the bottle at him.

Now we have a problem about who's pouring.

That is, shall I pour, or will you?

Does it matter?

Yes.

Maybe not, I don't know. It depends.

Feminism or etiquette?

Reversal of roles or polite hospitality?

Those nuns again...

No, Carla Lonzi.

Okay, if it helps, I won't have any.

Drink up, drink up.

The waiter would've poured it for us at the restaurant.

I knew he preferred to meet outside the nest.

He was joking. Come on, girls, lighten up.

See? We were rude to mention the restaurant.

We were being honest.

It's a fine line.

It's much better here than at the restaurant.

You have to book... We've already said that.

I'm not the type to go to restaurants

or pizza places, trattorias, wine bars...

- Too many people. - You have to book a table there too.

Not even diners.

Though diners are becoming extinct these days.

He's all flustered.

But he's so cute.

- Are you expecting someone? - That's the oven timer.

- Are you hungry? - Yes.

Shall we lie down at the table?

Did I say "lie down"?

I'd say definitely.

But I confess I'm rather hungry and would be happy to lie down.

I'll get the lasagna.

Did we really say that?

Come on. Who said that?

You didn't? Did you?

No, I'm not interested in sex.

Not right now, at least.

You!

What about it? Lie down, sit down. Come on!

- I knew it was you. - I like Freudian slips.

It was to shake him up a bit, since we started off with...

- Help me out. - Carla Lonzi.

Carla Lonzi.

It's going to be a long night.

Thanks for not making fun of me.

Give me your hands.

- What? - Your hands.

Only for a second.

Thank you, Nature and Teacher, for this food and these gifts.

Itadakimasu.

Always.

Forgive me. I can't help it.

It's not funny, but it makes me laugh.

It's a good sign when someone laughs, right?

I went through a Buddhist stage. That's why I'm not laughing.

Really?

Two months ago, I'd have been offended.

Why do we always come out with this crap?

Forgive me. I mean it.

What's more, it was a wonderful experience.

We'd do yoga,

meditation, deep breathing...

Joking aside, it's really good for you.

I think it's also an interesting philosophy.

I was centered,

in perfect harmony with the cosmos.

And I always found a parking spot.

- Truce. - Truce.

- You were good. - You too.

- Thanks. - I'd say the score's even for now.

I took acting classes as a kid. I dropped out after two months.

Why is that?

I don't know. It wasn't my thing. I didn't feel free.

This idea of getting into someone else's shoes,

speaking other people's words that aren't your own...

We could open a whole chapter about what's really yours, Lara.

But we're not going to. We're a low-key collective.

But there's one thing I remember, an exercise.

We'd stand in two lines, one in front of the other,

and you had to imagine the person in front of you getting younger.

You had to imagine them as a child.

I was paired with this guy I really couldn't stand.

But after I'd imagined him as a child...

I became very fond of him...

A return to innocence?

Yes, to innocence.

To the roots.

To the night in which all cows are black.

Let's try it.

Because you can't stand me?

No. Go on.

Okay.

Let's go back in time.

Why do I space out during officially romantic moments?

I focus on the chipped paint on the wall,

the smell of the broth the nuns made,

and I try and remember the frequency of Vatican Radio.

Svilar, Mancini, Ndicka,

Angeliño, Cristante, Paredes,

Pellegrini, Dovbyk and Dybala.

How far did you get?

Dybala.

When you were eight.

Really?

What was I like?

Shy...

and happy.

- And as a teenager? - Not as shy.

- Not as happy. - Teenage melancholy.

- Typical. - Yeah.

When you put on an act for so long and end up believing it.

Like what happens to actors in your acting classes.

That's right.

What about me?

What was I like as a kid?

You were...

calm.

- Even-tempered, mature. - Too much so.

I had a steady girlfriend in the first year of high school.

No way!

- A romantic. - Or a fearful conservative.

- I reckon romantic. - I'd have said romantic.

Romantic and monogamous.

Ah, well... I was a nymphomaniac.

Thrilling!

Easy, now. She was joking.

- I'll get the focaccia. - Right.

How often can you be embarrassing in a lifetime?

- How often? - What did I say?

"Nymphomaniac." What came over you?

- Well... - Did you find that funny?

- A little bit. - Was it appropriate?

Sensitive, charming-- Well?

- Don't you start, now. - I'm only teasing.

I've had enough. You ruin everything.

- I ruin everything? - Yes.

Me?

- Go ahead, then. I'm leaving. - To go where?

We're locked up in here. You can't leave.

Here, on the other pouf.

I like that expression, "I'm leaving."

It feels worldly.

Or this one here. I might try them all.

And if I feel like it, I'll leave again.

You'll say, "Has she gone?" "Yes." "Where?" "Over to the sofa."

Have some focaccia.

She burped.

- No. - Yes, she did.

It's a sign of approval in China.

Oh, no! Not the hiccups. Please, no!

Oh, God!

Jesus. You made me jump.

But it cured you.

Wait.

Perhaps.

Sometimes when I'm at home on my own,

I do it.

Do what?

I scream.

You scream?

I scream.

I don't know why I told you that.

Come to think of it, I've never told anyone else.

- It's bizarre. - I wanted to be honest.

Don't we do strange things too?

Well, if we're being honest...

Go on.

Will you be quiet?

- It didn't work. - It's back. I'll get some water.

Sorry.

We scream in the house?

Do you find that normal?

Does that make us look good?

You need a strange quirk. It adds character.

Yet no one likes your character, if you don't mind me saying.

We don't, she doesn't. Especially us.

- I don't mind it. - You don't mind it?

No. He's cool.

Please, let's keep this bearable. Let's get this evening over with.

- Small sips? - Yes.

Better?

- No. - Didn't work.

Wait. Try this.

Can you drink backwards? Put your head here.

Drink it from this side.

Put your lips here...

The water has to touch your palate.

I'm not sure...

Let's see.

- Excuse me. - Sure. Go ahead.

He's got a daughter and wife. Here we go again.

What fools we are!

He's married. Another one!

Who stopped taking her mood stabilizers?

You're the one obsessed with unavailable men.

No, no. I have nothing to do with aggressive, rowdy people.

You like to suffer? To be the leftover no one chooses?

Taken men are easy.

She isn't talking bullshit.

- They're taken, we're free. - Free?

Free and unhappy.

Perverse dynamics that have always happened.

Like Luigino, who led us on while he was dating another girl.

That was primary school. You swore he was dating the teacher.

It happens! Don't you read the papers?

He's coming back.

Speak to you later.

What do you mean, she prefers Maya?

Sweetie, they're only watching a film together.

Go and join them on the sofa. You watch it too.

Sweetie, stop crying, now.

Of course she's fond of you.

Valeria's always been your best friend,

and Maya's not stealing her from you, don't worry.

No, Maya isn't a bitch.

I don't like that kind of language.

Why do you want to go home?

Come on, Rosa.

He sounds like a great father.

Already saying, "He'd make a great dad"?

Will you all calm down?

No wedding ring.

Creased clothes, free on Saturday night.

He's a single man at his own mercy.

And a daughter who calls him at 10:00 p.m.

We don't steal fathers from little girls.

Though we might just screw them.

- We'll give him back. - Borrow him.

No! No, we don't do that.

Children want Mommy and Daddy together, not separate.

The idea of the family as a container of happiness is overrated.

We're all in analysis, thanks to our parents.

The child's point of view is:

suffer, die of boredom, feel lonely...

but stick together.

That's all.

Children are nasty people. Selfish.

We can be selfish at times too.

You're selfish all the time.

What is it you want?

I'm not being a mistress again.

- Too soon for "the man of my life." - Do we have to label him?

Having a vague idea does no harm.

A guy who's radiant, stable, bright.

Practically a table lamp.

- Polite. - Yes.

- Sentimental. - Of course.

- Witty. - We need a laugh.

Deep. Attentive, but not obsessive.

- No, not obsessive. - Full-blooded.

- Passionate. - Sensitive.

Who always looks at us and listens.

- Who sings and plays. - Plays too.

- With a bicycle? - On the bicycle.

- Great balance... - Exceptional.

And that air of... a bit like a midday sky.

He doesn't exist.

What do we do in the meantime? Become extinct?

Let me listen.

But you're inseparable.

You'll always have Valeria, and she'll have you.

Even if you make other friends.

No, Rosa, she can't love you alone.

Okay. But Maya a little less, because she's a bitch.

Have you calmed down now? No, I'm not coming to pick you up.

Rosa, go and watch the film with them and face this situation.

Bye, sweetie.

Why did we go from "our little princess" to "tough love"?

Because we haven't fucked in six months.

Fair enough.

- Sorry. - It's okay.

That was your da... your daughter, I imagine.

Don't let your voice crack on the word "daughter," damn it.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but... I did.

Always have two or four friends. Odd numbers are a disaster.

I didn't know that.

Good job. You reassured her.

- Can we mention the ex-wife? - It's not necessary.

It is, and we need to tell her now. Look at her expression.

I'm usually the one who reassures her, and my...

ex-wife offers encouragement.

Ex! He said it! He said it!

Satisfied now?

Well, you have a perfect separation of roles.

How beautiful can a two-letter word be?

It's nice that you and your ex...

Take that smile off your face.

...have found this complicity for your daughter,

being an ex...

Say it again.

You know, sometimes being a parent and friend, rather than just a parent...

can be...

you know...

Inadequate!

- Tolerant. - Indulgent.

Easy? Convenient?

- Anachronistic. - Anachronistic?

No...

Lenient and well-disposed.

- Incoherent. - Comforting.

- Consolatory. - They're synonyms.

- Choose one. You look stupid. - Convenient. That's it.

- Yes. - Well done.

Convenient? Why?

Because on one hand you avoid conflict,

but on the other,

it can become...

Ineffective.

- Ineffective. - Yes, ineffective.

Thanks, Lara!

I imagine you don't have any kids.

Tell him. This pause is awful.

It depends.

What the fuck do you mean?

- On what? - I mean, no.

It doesn't depend. I mean no.

For now. We'll see in the future.

Bringing a child up is...

nice, but it's also...

- I don't know. - You never know.

Even if films, books and fairy tales try to explain how to bring kids up,

you have no idea until you have one.

I thought it was enough to love them.

No, that's easy. It's keeping them alive.

I'm trying to keep my plants alive for now.

- They don't seem to love you back. - No, definitely not.

Does your daughter live with her mother?

We have joint custody.

There was no trauma. We worked it out.

When?

Quite recently, but we found a solution.

What happened before?

I used to get in the car and drive to their home every night.

"Every night" is pathetic.

Not every night, but often.

Still pathetic.

Sometimes.

I'd sometimes drive to their home and...

sit there for hours, looking up

at the lit windows of my old life.

I wanted to assure myself it was still there.

That everything was fine,

even without me.

How scary!

That's lovely.

Excuse me.

Forgive me.

Do you want to depress her even more?

Can't get any heavier than that.

I want a black motorcycle.

Headlamps on, bandana, sweat. I want to stink like a man.

Why do we always have to hide our sensitivity?

Why must emotions be a female thing? I feel emotions.

I shake, and I'll admit it.

- Oh, he feels emotions. - He shakes.

I have no intention of stinking like a man or shaking.

Can we concentrate, please?

Here I am.

I'm sorry.

No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...

No, no. Don't worry.

It's just that this idea

of taking care of someone without them knowing is...

nice, it's touching.

I suppose the need to take care of people is innate.

Know how I satisfy that need?

No.

By taking care of my furniture.

Look interested.

- Is that so? - I spend hours restoring them.

I'm happy when I buy them and sad when I sell them.

Amused smile--

No, no teeth.

I charge a fortune for some pieces, hoping I won't sell them.

But that's my superego saboteur.

Nod as if you've understood.

- Are you sure? - Yes.

Yeah, sure.

Sometimes when I'm on my own in the shop,

I imagine all the people who have owned the furniture.

You're a fucking bore with this furniture!

Do you ever imagine other people's lives?

Lie!

- Of course! - Yeah?

Know what I do?

I close my eyes...

and start thinking about their homes,

their lives...

their family dynamics...

Why don't we kiss her now?

- Go on. - Children hiding under them.

We can't. Her eyes are closed.

This furniture, the colors they've had over time...

You're too polite.

The objects on them...

In short, I never feel lonely.

Because girlfriends disappear, but furniture remains.

Cat ladies are the life and soul of the party compared to her.

They suddenly all got pregnant. All of them, pregnant!

One week they're talking about happy hours,

and the next week they're talking about strollers.

I know about those.

And you become the strange one.

Do you feel strange?

Shall I be honest?

I like my life.

My job, my shop, my freedom...

Shall I be honest?

I envy you.

Don't get me wrong. I adore my daughter,

and I can't imagine my life without her, but...

No class chats, no vaccines,

no strange tummy rashes,

no birthday parties with bouncy castles.

Are you taking it for granted I won't have kids?

No, no, I didn't mean that.

- Anyway, I've frozen my eggs. - What?

- I've frozen my eggs. - Ah, I see.

Lots of women do it. It's no big deal.

You know they're there, in case one day...

What?

You don't think they're in the freezer?

No, of course not! I was just...

- I would never think that. - I don't really know where they are.

I imagine they're stored somewhere at -196 degrees.

And they're tiny, right?

- The eggs? - Yes.

- Small, round... - Uh, yeah.

Just like eggs, in fact.

I saw a photo of them...

I mean, in an ultrasound picture.

But it was no longer egg-shaped.

It was more oval-shaped.

He's flustered again.

- It's bad this time. - Really bad.

- I shouldn't have told you, right? - No.

- Anyway, you told me. - I did.

Superego saboteur. Superego saboteur...

Must be his daughter again.

This kid is pissing me off already.

Everything okay?

Sort of.

We'll have to say something.

Rosa wanted to leave the pajama party before,

but I persuaded her to stay.

So she called her mother, asking to be picked up.

Now she's saying I shouldn't have insisted,

because Rosa stayed there to make me happy.

I'm the one who should understand.

Go and pick her up.

No, I'd rather not.

I think you should. At least send her a text.

- Why is she insisting? - She's trying to be helpful.

Look, she'll say no anyway.

We often say things but mean the opposite.

Not her.

If you don't know how it works, why try to be helpful?

- I'll come with you if you want. - No, there's no need, really.

Sorry.

- I didn't mean to insist. Sorry. - It's okay.

Go with him?

Thaw your eggs, have a kid. Then you can talk.

- I like to exaggerate sometimes. - You're horrible.

We're allowed to be horrible in here.

Yes, but it's not nice having to live with thoughts that disgust you.

I'm disgusted we abandoned Rosa for this date.

The idea was, "Learn to manage the situation on your own."

Since when did we become Montessori method fans?

Since we haven't fucked in six months.

Long time.

You look pensive.

You never know how to behave when you have a kid.

A trifle can become a trauma,

but you only realize when she's dating a 50-year-old junkie called Cuttlefish.

Are you always so anxious? With your students too?

No, I'm more levelheaded with them.

You didn't tell me what department you're in.

It's not a department. I teach high school.

High school! God, that's great!

- Don't overdo it. - Nice.

Thanks.

- Can you get the wine? - Yes.

I teach history and philosophy.

I could have pursued a university career,

but there's too much competition.

- As we said before, fearful. - Cut that out.

No regrets?

Regrets...

Lots.

Every time we walk into class with all the hormones and smelly feet.

But we're not going to tell her that. Or anything else.

No.

- No. - No regrets.

- And no plan B? - I don't like being interrogated.

Let's go outside.

Listen, I tell you what.

Let's forget about "I am this, I do that."

In the end, you risk having to prove you've achieved something.

Instead, we could just... take this evening lightly.

He wants to screw.

Know Calvino's "American Lectures"?

He doesn't want to screw.

Yes, of course.

Lightness is not superficiality, but...

But...

Wait a sec.

- Flying... - Gliding.

Gliding, not flying.

- Gliding... - Above things.

Gliding above things...

- To Calvino, then. - Yeah.

To Italo.

Who cares about Calvino? He's telling us to shut up.

- No one can shut us up. - Not us.

- Us, him, the world, everyone. - I've been saying that for years.

What's that?

What was that? Did you hear it? Oh, goodness!

I think there's a soccer game.

On a Saturday?

Yes.

I think it's the intracity...

You know, when two teams from the same city...

- A derby? - A derby, that's right, yes.

It sounds like someone scored.

I wonder who.

- Did you want to watch it? - No, no.

Svilar, Mancini, Ndicka.

Angeliño, Cristante, Paredes.

- Pellegrini, Dovbyk... - You're not a soccer fan?

I'm not really a big fan.

- You wanted to watch it. - No--

- You were dying to watch it. - A soccer match? No.

He turned up in spite of the derby.

So much for regrets. Let's help him out.

Come on. Let's watch the match.

- Look, it's not... - Come on.

- It's not a problem. - It's not?

- There are only ten minutes left. - Plus injury time.

Ten minutes of lightness.

Actually, I...

Got the sports channel?

No, but you do.

Yes, I think I...

Wait...

Here we are.

Oh, 1-0. That's good.

For the other team.

Yes, but...

A derby's just like any other match.

Why don't we choose a team too?

Being a fan sounds fun.

Going to away games,

getting on buses, trains, and suffering!

Rowdy fans, smoke bombs, clashes, getting a stadium ban!

Down with the police!

Girls, I think there's a hooligan inside me.

As well as a load of chemical substances.

Why do you always spoil everything?

- Did you play soccer? - Yes.

- What position? - Defender.

- Were you any good? - My nickname was Terminal.

- I was good. - They all say they were good.

- What happened? - He'll say he got injured.

I got injured.

- Really? - Yes.

Palusci tackled me from behind, and I tore a ligament.

- Career over. - That's terrible.

Scaly shoulder.

- Yeah. - I fell off my moped when I was 14.

Glass shard on wall as I climbed over.

I was ten. This scar has grown with me.

Look at this.

I dove off a rock into shallow water. I was eight. My mom fainted.

Split eyebrow.

There.

Old political scar.

I have a political scar too.

Tattoo removal.

- There's a hammer. - There was a sickle too before.

- Communist nuns again? - No, communist dad.

One of those who believed in communism right to the end. I did it for him.

Then a few years ago, I decided to remove the sickle.

I only believe in the hammer now.

Is that the oven? I'm stuffed.

No, it's the buzzer. Excuse me.

Yes?

No.

I'll come down.

Sorry, I need to go downstairs.

- Go ahead. - I won't be long.

Be right back.

So many useful objects.

That's fishy.

She has no dollar store items,

like that curly carrot peeler.

We've got three, and we don't eat carrots.

Maybe she's consistent.

I thought they all died out in the 1970s.

Nice debate. It really is. Very interesting and engaging.

But I'd concentrate a bit harder on the fact that it's now 10:30 p.m.,

someone rang the bell, and she's gone downstairs.

I agree, for once. We're here all on our own.

In the cold, in the rain, with a high fever,

barefoot, orphaned, abandoned.

What the hell!

Sorry.

I just reread "The Little Match Girl."

- You promised to give it up. - I intended to.

Addiction is a nasty beast.

There's mortification in the air.

We should leave. Dignity comes before everything.

- Superego saboteur! Superego saboteur! - Cut that out!

It's stuck in my mind.

- Who is this guy? - It might be a girl.

Not at this time of night.

- I'd take a look. - Let's not ignore the signs.

Bad omen.

Eros and Thanatos. More Thanatos than Eros.

What a drag.

You're aging badly.

Trust me. Let's take a look.

Tough luck.

- Oh, well. - Don't worry.

How's it going?

Not sure.

These things happen.

Where's Romeo?

Romeo!

- Where's he gone? - Romeo!

Here he is!

What's up?

I feel like I'm being punished but haven't done anything wrong.

This feeling rising in my chest.

From butterflies to gastritis...

I can't bear seeing you like this.

Come on...

- We've been defeated. - I know.

But I hadn't gotten my hopes up too much.

It's just that her terrace...

I was imagining...

We could've made a wisteria and jasmine veranda.

With their lovely scents.

And while we drink cold rosé wine,

just a drop, not too strong,

with one hand we check homework, and with the other massage her feet.

Because she's been hammering and assembling all day.

And she's tired. No, thanks.

- Nice, but what about our daughter? - Our daughter?

She's not our wife.

If we like someone, she'll adapt.

It's come to that? "If we like someone, she'll adapt"?

She can sit on the terrace too and do her homework.

When you have a veranda, everyone can use it.

How come this idea of putting a veranda up in this house,

which isn't ours, has suddenly become so important?

- Can someone explain? - Yeah.

We showed imagination for once.

This is a destabilizing and dangerous fantasy.

Here I am.

- Is everything okay? - Yes, and you?

Yes.

Sorry.

Sorry. I don't know why he turned up like that

after two months with a gift.

But I won't get into this horrible affair, which is over anyway.

For me, at least.

Don't worry. You don't have to explain.

He says he's left his wife.

So what?

Listen, I imagine now you'll want...

to go home.

I'd understand.

- I mean... - Maybe I should go.

I'll wait a few minutes. He might be outside.

I wouldn't like...

He's not the type to wait outside.

I never meet that kind of guy.

Quit looking like Bambi, who's been dazzled by headlights in the night.

It's useless.

Come on, say something.

- Why doesn't he talk? - He's being discreet.

Mexican standoff.

Collective apnea.

- Keep still. - Move only your eyes.

I'll give you some time to yourself.

Let's go, then.

Okay, yes.

What about the ice cream?

Don't look at the freezer, for goodness sake.

You've no fucking idea. She wants us to stay.

She told us to go.

But she meant, "Throw your arms around me.

Brew me some tea and listen to me."

- He got all that from her? - He's nuts.

Why is he leaving?

Because we told him to.

- But we wanted him to stay. - We should've made it clear.

Yeah.

Okay...

Why don't we open it?

What?

- The gift. - I think I know what it is.

An espresso machine. He preferred pods.

Let's find out.

Lara, you're asking for trouble.

Okay, let's open it.

Yes, let's open it.

Is he really opening her ex's present?

- Heroic. - He's amazing.

Opening her ex's gift?

Come on. The evening's ruined.

Let's retreat with honor.

- Wait a sec. - Yes, let's play for time.

It's too light. I'm not convinced.

Perhaps he bought the cheap one.

How amusing! Like those Russian dolls.

It doesn't look like an espresso machine.

No.

Maybe just the pods.

Shall I open it? Shall I open it?

I told you it was trouble.

How dare he do this!

How dare he!

An imbecile who gives you a ring is still an imbecile.

A ring doesn't change things.

A diamond doesn't cancel out stupidity and inadequacy.

Of course not.

How arrogant!

So giving a ring is no longer romantic? It's arrogant?

It's "man-blaming" time again. Play dead,

wait for it to end, wake me up in 500 years.

I don't want it.

I don't like rings. I don't wear them. They snag on my sweaters.

I want my own things, things he can't stand:

my record player, my coffee maker, my furry bath mat--

Because I like it. It's furry.

Nice.

She really turns me on when she gets angry.

Me too.

Sort of.

I am really...

- Sad? - I'm-- No, I'm...

- Disappointed? - No, I'm...

- Angry? - No, I'm...

- I'm scared. - Scared?

Scared by the fact that two people can be together for over a year

- and never understand each other. - Right.

Think he's realized we have no time for greedy men,

cannibals of emotions?

Let's remove all doubt.

Come on. It's "you guys" time.

I just don't get you guys.

Why do you always mess up the moves, the timing,

the gestures, the words-- why?

I can't believe that after all these decades and centuries,

you have absolutely no idea what women want.

Why?

Don't react.

Turtle stance, head down, not a word.

You're...

You're thoughtless, you're...

shortsighted, you're...

You're absent-minded. All of you!

- Not everyone. - All of you!

- I'm not absent-minded. - Turn around.

Tell me what I'm wearing.

- What? - No, don't turn round.

Tell me what I'm wearing.

I think...

- She was... - Wait.

- Wait. - I'll wait.

Definitely a skirt.

First of all, a skirt.

Right!

Color?

- Short. - Short.

- Short? - I tried!

"Short" isn't a color. Denim.

Then?

- Plum blouse? - No, it's burgundy.

- But... - Plum is burgundy.

Plum is burgundy.

No, plum is plum.

It's see-through.

He knows that.

- Right. - Not too see-through.

I mean, not vulgar...

It's sheer.

Cardigan?

You only put the cardigan on when you went out.

Okay. Earrings?

Earrings...

Was she wearing any?

Earrings, yes...

Long ones. Long ones.

- Long ones. - No, I don't have pierced ears.

I told you!

It's strange, though.

- Everyone has pierced ears-- - I don't.

- Hair? - Yes.

- Long. - It's short.

- Lovely. - Thick.

Okay. Tights?

Don't get the tights wrong.

He won't get this one.

Dark, 20-denier.

- Is that the price? - It's the thickness.

- How do you know? - Fuck it!

Let's just say it. Come on.

"Dark 20-denier tights."

Dark 20-denier tights.

Forty-denier, but not bad.

Okay. Well done.

- Shoes? - Black, four-inch heels.

He's good.

Can I turn around now?

Okay.

- I didn't do too bad-- - It could've been worse.

Don't look at me like that.

- Like what? - Adorable.

Amused. It's not funny.

What am I wearing?

Brown corduroy jacket,

thin-rib, denim button-down shirt underneath.

- Shall I carry on? - No, no, no.

It's not button-down...

How is it possible that the absurd ring of Mr. Evil,

who used us for a year,

has transformed an awkward evening into a triumph of complicity?

- He took a risk. - He deserves a reward.

- Symbolically. A cookie. Come on. - Leave it to me.

- Here. - It's not strong?

It's chamomile.

Delicious!

She said it wasn't strong!

I've thought up a poem.

- She is crazy, though. - Who isn't?

Who is this guy with the ring?

The Lord of the Rings.

Someone who's done us a big favor.

A brother, a hero.

Not very well-behaved, but... total gratitude!

It's always a bad day for someone.

Not for us, at least.

The problem is that love makes you stupid.

Me especially.

Because if you're alert, you can tell from the start.

All the flaws are there.

They're obvious.

You just have to read them.

Yes, but what a pain having to dig up all their flaws.

Yes, but you avoid a thousand existential questions

when it's too late and you've lost every scrap of decent existence.

I don't even know why I'm telling you this.

I hardly know you.

Don't worry. We don't know ourselves either.

Which could make things a lot simpler.

Just switch off your brain.

How fucking ungrateful!

He doesn't deserve us!

Switch your brain off and see what happens!

Can you all calm down?

Tactics, strategy, method-- Does that mean nothing to you?

I love you, I have erotic dreams about you,

but stop busting my balls and let me do my job.

Now he'll say, "When the going gets tough"...

Wouldn't you like to switch off your brain?

You'd get rid of all your insecurities in a flash.

Your vulnerability, fears, anxiety...

It's all heavy stuff.

Yes, but it's nice too.

I hate people who don't have a moment's hesitation.

I'm falling into a state of spreading euphoria.

What is it, sleep or sex?

I suspect you're one of those men

who asks himself a load of questions.

And you worry.

You're on and off.

You're alive. That's nice.

He should realize it's time to kiss us.

It's nice, but sometimes...

- We'll kiss him, then. - He's talking.

...it can be hard work.

I can't relax during my first kiss.

Don't worry. I'll kiss him.

You drool too much. Don't.

I drool?

A little.

Now you tell me?

Unfortunately, it's this here...

that won't listen to us.

Try telling it, "I want to be happy."

Nope.

Or...

"Calm my anxiety."

- But no... - Why doesn't he kiss us?

Or...

"Please don't make me blush."

You blushed.

See? I'm right.

One, two, three...

Break a leg!

- Come on! - Come on!

Yeah!

- That's right! - I knew it!

Right on!

Careful.

Take it nice and easy.

- I like getting a good start. - Well, I don't.

- I do. - I don't.

- You can't make all the decisions. - Or else?

- We'll boycott you. - Is that so? How?

- We'll think of Mom. - No, not Mom.

- Yes. - Not Mom!

No!

Not Mom.

Have you eaten?

Mom, get out of here.

What's up?

Nothing.

What did you say?

- Say it clearly. - What?

Those sweet nothings you whisper in her ear, say them clearly.

Let us hear them too.

You have to say them clearly, not mumble them.

- "I like your scent." - I didn't say it like that.

And she said, "What did you say?"

- "I like your scent." - I didn't say it like that.

"What?" "I like your scent."

And she says, "Oh, sorry. I didn't catch it."

The poetry's over, and I'm out. And that means we're all out.

Okay, you do your part, and I'll do mine.

Do it properly.

I'm not going in with the light on.

- Blushing. - My hands are sweating.

- Heart racing. - We're emotional. So what?

It's a sign of weakness.

- You asked what she likes? - Yeah.

We're not at a bar!

It's nice when they ask.

- Let's have him tie us up. - Yeah.

Tie us? Why?

To try something new.

With what?

Not with shoelaces. They're too short.

- Can I tell him? - Don't make us regret it.

- I didn't get that. - I think she's referring to...

I think she wants...

I'll show you.

- Do you think so? - While she...

you should...

Maybe together we can...

- Really? - I'll try.

- He didn't get it. - No.

Yes, yes...

Forgive me.

Who decided to come?

Well?

- Don't look at me. - You always make the decisions.

Not this time.

It was my idea.

His idea? What?

- Why? - It was the right moment.

It was too early!

It was fine for now.

We'd have carried on.

- You were taking too long. - All right.

- No, it's not all right. - To work out how long she needs.

Apart from... We'd almost succeeded.

- He's leaving us hanging? - No way.

We didn't even have time to fake it.

- This guy's crazy. - It's okay for the first time.

No, it's not okay.

Simultaneous orgasms are overrated anyway.

But not alternating ones.

- It's your fault. - What?

Yes. You confuse them with all that "yes, yes, yes."

Am I supposed to say "no, no, no"?

Maybe "perhaps"...

I see. It's all my fault now! Come on!

- Maybe he got it wrong and thought... - Got what wrong?

You either come or you don't. There's no gray area.

It's unacceptable.

Let's not turn it into an ideological issue.

It's not ideological, it's physical.

It's irritating.

Like swimming the butterfly stroke.

- What's that got to do with... - It annoys me, okay?

Going...

At least he didn't moan.

We could've faked it.

- Again? - Then he'll think he got it right.

No faking!

Wait, wait, wait.

We were too harsh on him.

We should've waited.

- Not so fast. - Less pressure.

Quiet. I need to focus.

That's right.

Well done.

More to the right.

- My right or her right? - Your right.

No, not like that.

Go on. That's good.

- Eye contact. - Huh?

- Look at her. - Not that easy.

Don't look. Concentrate!

Come on, now.

Come on, girls.

- I'm feeling agitated. - Anxiety?

- Claustrophobia. - Keep going.

I'm sweating.

- We could give her some kisses. - Fuck you!

Keep it up.

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in...

I'm hyperventilating.

Now clench your legs.

Let's clench them.

More determined.

- What was that? - More determined! Are you deaf?

It's all blurred! She's clenching her thighs!

Go on. Let's keep going. We're nearly there.

- Yes. - Yes?

- Yes! - Yes!

Nearly there!

- Yes! - Yes. Yes!

Nearly there!

So...

Profile half-Greek, half-Hidalgo.

Levantine.

Wow! Those are big words!

Essentially, Italian southern hick.

But you make it sound good.

What dark eyes you have.

Are you Little Red Riding Hood?

Dark eyes are my ruin.

You never know where they start and where they finish.

I've had my best love affairs with dark eyes.

Lots?

Nice ones?

Three.

Want a summary?

- That's typical after sex. - Let's get it out of the way.

- That's right. - Go on.

Right.

I dated this guy I met in Bristol during Erasmus,

followed by two years of "I'll visit you, you visit me."

A surfer from Tropea who brightened my vacations for three years,

and a Sicilian architect.

Adorable, as only certain Sicilians can be.

All far away, though.

A subconscious tactic for not getting involved?

Who knows?

Compared to you, I'm a mundane guy from the boonies.

Dental technician trainee,

same building, Stairway A, Stairway B.

An art history teacher,

a few insignificant love affairs, and an ex-wife.

No, wait.

A bookseller from Ostia I lost my head over,

but it was short-lived.

Moody, unstable, unpredictable and unreliable.

Sounds like a good friend for us.

Warning: My feet are... freezing.

Warning: That doesn't bother me.

Watching TV in bed doesn't bother me either.

Or smoking in bed.

Or evening eating in bed

and being surrounded by crumbs.

One more thing:

I really, really love furry bath mats.

Silly!

- Those really furry ones... - That you lose yourself in.

Why do you make me feel like getting a dog together?

A dog?

Yeah.

- I need the bathroom. - Okay.

Did she say "dog"?

- Yeah. - We gave an amazing performance,

all subtlety and suspense, and she says "dog"?

You said "furry bath mat," she came back with "dog."

No, she meant dog because it's something for us,

something soft to share,

to stroke, sniff and kiss.

I've run out of saliva.

Confessing to the first guy who comes along?

Talking about dogs?

We make good lovers, but as talkers...

We should keep quiet.

- Especially before and after sex. - Selective mutism.

I won't keep quiet. He's right.

They all lived at a safe distance.

Distance prevents you from suffering.

Let's help each other.

And you help me. I'd like a dog.

Stop talking about dogs. What's with you?

I don't want a dog, I want a man.

I want exactly what's in that room.

- And you're chasing him away. - I note your request for a man.

But calm down, now.

I don't trust him.

He uses fruit condoms.

He's running off... no frills, I'd say.

I appreciate sincerity. We're only flesh.

I feel like an 18th-century Paris brothel whore

when they do that.

Tomorrow we'll be back shoplifting pine nuts.

Ten packs will cheer us up.

He's thinking it over.

I love men who know what they want.

He looks confused. I wonder what he's thinking.

About us, this evening, about what happened.

Do condoms go with plastic or compost?

- Compost. - Compost.

Is he looking for the eggs?

- Fancy some ice cream? - Great comeback.

What flavors did you get?

That suits you.

You first.

What's up?

People never talk about sex.

I mean after. We make no comments.

It's strange, really, because we go...

to the movies, watch the film, then comment on it.

But we don't comment on sex.

Got something to tell me?

No, I just meant in general.

I really enjoyed it.

Why not say so?

It's the wrong moment.

No, it's the best moment we've had in months.

Interesting. But maybe we could discuss it when we get home.

- Are we going home? - Did you want to sleep here?

- Why not? - In the morning, I'm...

What? Stop it!

- Thanks for not saying it. - What?

That you brought the best pistachio in Rome.

They always say they've brought the best pistachio in Rome.

But this really is the best pistachio in Rome.

You're about to offer him your spare toothbrush.

I can tell.

The good one, not the one from the plane.

Right.

- It's not that easy. - Usual dilemma.

Cream flavors or fruit?

I'm not cleaning my teeth with my finger.

You stuff anything in your mouth, and now the problem's toothpaste?

What about a set of keys, while we're at it?

Never. The enemy has to ring the bell.

Wait.

Thanks.

Billions of neurons, then this pitiful flesh.

A slave to this tepid earthly solace.

Centuries of struggles

brushed away by a toothbrush, damn it.

Too many brushes. You've lost me.

What?

We have to make him stay.

I have ice cream for dinner when I'm on my own.

- Really? So do I. - That's not true.

- I swear, a huge tub. - No way.

When did we last stay up till dawn talking?

You know the rules!

- Your rules! - Our rules!

- I do it too. - No, you don't.

I swear.

The lesbians of the past were right to get angry

when they split from hetero feminism.

- Good one. - Because we want to sleep

with the enemy, right?

Strawberry...

So-so.

Why are you pulling faces? What do you want?

Nothing. You look cute when you're angry.

What was that about lesbians making a split?

Those in the past?

Tomorrow at dawn, I'm supposed to go to

an antiques market.

Get rid of the "supposed to."

But it's far away, and I never find anything anyway.

- She's inviting us to stay. - Wrong.

I've got an ethnic lunch tomorrow.

You see? A kebab is now an ethnic lunch.

He's right. It's all wrong.

I'll skip out too.

He wants to stay too. Go on, tell him!

I'd rather sleep till late.

Have breakfast in bed with no rush...

With crumbs in the bed.

I don't like it. Too many pillows.

Pillows, kebabs, the dog-- that's all bullshit.

Can we at least be honest with ourselves?

He has a daughter, a wife...

- Ex-wife! - Why do we always have to be...

I just don't get you guys!

Sitting on a stranger's sofa.

- Obsessed with unavailable men. - The promise of a future...

- Love shouldn't be cozy. - She said "age."

- Being the leftover... - You're asking for trouble.

Listen to me for once.

Enough.

Enough.

Enough.

- Enough ice cream. - Yes.

It's getting late.

Yes, yes.

- It's getting late. - Yes. Your shirt.

Here.

No, we can't leave it at that.

She's unpredictable, courageous, witty,

lively, and even likable, damn it!

And pretty.

Are we really letting him leave?

- Shall I throw the garbage out? - There's no need.

Okay.

Yes, there is.

We'll throw the garbage out tomorrow, together.

Not even the compost? It'll stink.

No, I'll throw it out tomorrow. Thanks.

He made us feel good.

Maybe the bottles.

Right.

We wept and laughed all in one night.

She's fragile, tough, courageous-- Shall I carry on?

He seems authentic, decent.

She seems lost, because she doesn't want to be found.

He's the kind who waits outside your home.

And we throw him out?

Here.

It's on the corner.

- Yeah. - On the right.

Well, good night.

Good night.

No. No!

Just say, "Stay."

Just say, "I'll stay."

What are they like?

Four old farts.

May I?

Hi.

I didn't expect so many.

I didn't expect anyone.

Are you here to argue?

I don't dislike a bit of healthy violence.

I often say that to make myself feel more manly.

Look at them.

Unsure, bewildered.

Confused bipeds.

"We'll get a warm welcome."

You seemed adorable before.

Then why didn't you stay?

Well...

You practically kicked us out.

- You looked at your watch. - You handed us our shirt.

It was obviously an invitation to stay.

Not that subtle either.

No, no, no, no, guys. Let's get this right.

We started out so well.

Yes, what about the dog?

It just slipped out.

It was just a sweet thing to say. There are no dogs here.

I can see a dog.

I can see a dog, a station wagon,

installments to pay,

washing machine, dryer,

a mug with my name on it.

Big-screen TV, dinners with mutual friends.

We don't have any friends.

All autarkic regimes fail. Don't you know that?

We're not autarkic.

- You're not? - No.

We have a daughter, ex-wife,

a long list, often ignored, of responsibilities.

We don't need any more.

- Do you really have a daughter? - Yes.

You never mentioned that. Who asked you, anyway?

Women go to the toilet together. Let's not forget that.

You might not be autarkic,

but you are...

- consequences. - Yes, that's me.

We've found our balance.

And we're fine as we are.

I realize you still have to find yours.

What the fuck is he saying?

Nothing. He's mansplaining.

- What's that? - Just some water sport.

We're not fine.

This is neither the place nor the time.

We got it wrong.

You don't go to someone's home on the first date.

So you found it strange?

Of course.

- Whose idea was it? - Hers.

Of course. The dog lady.

It was a nice idea.

- Who hit on her at the café? - He did!

I only asked if you wanted the last doughnut.

You had it all planned.

I didn't say, "Shall we lie down at the table," my dear.

- But I liked the idea. - Did you?

- Where did it come from? - I was...

You're a clear case of libidinal regression.

Thanks for the diagnosis.

Libidinal regression.

We have to do some work on this concept.

I like it. It's like when-- Hey!

When we were under hypnosis. It was such fun.

You stripped naked and yelled,

"I want a rich man who's madly in love with me!"

They have some issues too.

How come you came back?

Well?

I suffer from tinnitus.

I asked you... Read my lips.

- I heard you. - He was playing for time.

Well?

Because we had a good time.

- Then why did you leave? - Because we had a good time.

That might sound contradictory,

but unfortunately it's not.

Did you enjoy it?

Enjoyment isn't enough.

It's not enough.

It's just a temporary mist, a smoke bomb at the stadium.

Let's not forget "who pours the wine," "who cuts the lasagna."

And most of all, "the nest."

- And who the fuck is Carla Lonzi? - Don't remind me!

You don't miss a thing.

I asked one question.

He'll bring up the frozen eggs now.

- Yes. - You see. You said it yourself.

Why? What's the problem?

I have a whole battery of eggs in Siberia waiting to be thawed.

- Just so you know. - Our eggs are none of your business.

I don't like to judge. If it was the other way around,

and a guy told me he'd frozen his sperm, I'd kill myself.

Precisely.

Okay, I reckon we've said all we have to.

We can go now.

- Bye. - Thanks for the nice evening.

Let's go, Eros. Come on.

Romeo.

Romeo!

Well?

I'm staying here.

What was that?

Pronounce it clearly. He has tinnitus.

Nice bed, nice scent.

A breeze from the window.

Sheets with no tacky patterns on them.

I'm sleeping here.

You? On your own?

How?

How can he do that?

You said "I."

That pronoun doesn't exist here.

We start from the first-person plural, "we."

And sleeping with "them"

is our insuperable boundary, remember?

Nod your head.

Remember?

Eros, what's the floor like? Is it to your liking?

Valium, please wake up!

Aren't you saying anything? Have some dignity.

If only.

Are we this ugly when we argue?

If only we could argue for real.

We just fake it.

I love faking it.

No, speak for yourself. Not in that sense.

It's a woman's thing.

Not...

Look how we've ended up.

We used to be so close, connected. We were... friends.

Don't get disheartened.

Yes, sometimes we too feel...

Stifled?

Yes, stifled.

Sometimes we'd like to pee on our own.

Rosa said something yesterday.

It meant nothing.

What did she say?

She's only a child. She says lots of things.

She said, "Daddy, you look sad."

No, she didn't.

Yes, she did.

She also said she only needs to shower once a month,

that unicorns exist.

She talks a lot of nonsense.

You just can't take emotions, can you?

- Come on. - I miss them in some way.

- I do too, a bit. - What is it you miss?

You miss staring at the wall?

Feeling lonely, like a dog?

I'm scared.

I'm scared for you...

and for me.

Scared of what?

Tomorrow morning, for example.

It's enough for me if you help me find my keys in the morning.

I'm good at finding things.

All I need is coffee, preferably not a pod.

What happens if we like the coffee,

the bed with pillows, the sofa, the furry bath mat and everything else,

and we feel alive, and we feel good...

it's a problem,

because we'd have to sort our lives out around this moment

we feel good in.

We'll miss the antiques market.

We'll miss the kebab.

Who cares about the market or the kebab?

I don't want to wake up sad and lonely because I chose a table

instead of waking up next to a guy who lets me bite him,

who laughs and yells...

and does things to me.

She has a way of summing things up really well.

Wasn't "stay single and conquer the world" our motto?

No, it's your motto.

And you drag her into it at times.

I agree with her this time.

When did we last sleep with someone?

And you? How long?

Why don't we leave?

All of us.

Now. In silence.

No one would notice. It'd be more honest.

Or we could stay.

And see what happens.

We just have to decide.

Go on.

Anything's fine by me.

I'm hungry.

You know for what?

- Spaghetti, garlic, oil and chili? - I'll help.

Okay.

Let's set the table.

What are you thinking about?

Nothing.

Madly