The players:
N. = male, late fifties, delightfully full European accent.
D. = me. No accent. Or age. Or… well, female.
The play:
N., with great aplomb & a certain amount of wincing, slowly lowers himself to one knee, clasps hold of D.’s hand and touches his forehead to her fingers. He says,
“Sweetheart. Apple of my eye. Will you marry me?”
D., with equanimity, replies, “Aren’t you already married?”
N., shocked, says, “Don’t pry!”
—-
Addendum:
Later, turning to a colleague who is blinking distractedly from his cubicle, N. tells him,
“She gets very personal, doesn’t she?”
The colleague replies, “Didn’t you just ask her to marry you?”
N., outraged: “NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!”