“I’m going to kill you!”

His hands fumbled, pulling at the lodged zipper.

“No, I'll castrate you!”

“I told you this flimsy dress was a bad idea. Dorothy wouldn’t wear this!”

“What do you know about what Dorothy would wear?!”

Halting his vehement tugs, his tone turned grave.

“I’m going to rip it.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.” she warned.

“It’s the only way…” he made a step forward.

The sound of hands slapping and fabric ripping filled the offensively pink dressing room.

Outside, the audiences' mouths gaped as a blood curdling scream rang across the theater.