[Scene: A small café in Lyon. Clara sips her espresso nervously while Julien scrolls through his phone.]
Clara: (wringing her hands) Julien, I don’t know what to do. Our director insists we wear green sashes for the final scene tomorrow. Green! On stage! That’s practically inviting disaster!
Julien: (raising an eyebrow) Clara, you do know it’s the 21st century, right? We’ve sent people to space, mapped the human genome… I think we can handle a bit of green fabric on stage.
Clara: (glaring) Easy for you to say, Mr. Science. You’re not the one risking a complete onstage meltdown. Everyone knows green is cursed for performers.
Julien: (grinning) Okay, I’ll bite. Why green? What’s the tragic tale behind it?
Clara: Oh, you’ve never heard the story? Molière — the greatest playwright France has ever known — collapsed and died on stage wearing a green costume. Ever since, green has been bad luck for actors.
Julien: (nodding slowly) Hmm. Tragic, yes. But Clara… Molière also had tuberculosis. Maybe the green costume wasn’t the critical factor here.
Clara: (indignant) That’s not the point! There’s a pattern. Last year, during our production of Cyrano, Camille wore a green scarf for just one rehearsal, and bam — she sprained her ankle the next day.
Julien: (chuckling) You mean the same Camille who attempted to pirouette in three-inch heels?
Clara: (defensive) Details.
Julien: Clara, look — humans are wired to find patterns. It’s called apophenia. We connect unrelated events because our brains love stories. But correlation isn’t causation. Green costumes aren’t plotting against you.
Clara: (leaning in) But why tempt fate? It’s like walking under a ladder or breaking a mirror — sure, maybe nothing happens, but why take the risk?
Julien: (smiling warmly) You’re right; it feels safer. But imagine if we applied that logic to everything. Should doctors refuse to wear green scrubs? Should I stop eating pistachio macarons in case lightning strikes?
Clara: (giggling) Pistachio macarons are sacred; don’t you dare.
Julien: (laughing) Fair. But seriously — have you considered the origin of the superstition? Back in the day, green pigments were made with arsenic. Stage lights were gas or candle, so between the heat and the toxins, actors got sick or worse. That’s likely where the “green curse” started.
Clara: (eyes widening) Wait… so it was the dye that was dangerous, not some cosmic theatre curse?
Julien: Exactly. Modern green fabrics are arsenic-free, I promise. Unless your costume designer has a very dark sense of humor.
Clara: (thoughtful) Hmm. That… makes sense. But I still feel uneasy.
Julien: How about a compromise? Wear the green sash, but stick a lucky charm in your pocket. Science and superstition, side by side.
Clara: (grinning) You mean like a tiny Molière figurine?
Julien: (mock horror) Clara! Have mercy on the poor man’s legacy.
Clara: (laughing) Okay, okay. Maybe I’ll tuck my little jade rabbit into my costume. That should balance things out.
Julien: Deal. And I’ll be in the audience, cheering you on. In a very green shirt, just to make sure the universe knows whose side I’m on.
Clara: (playfully smacking his arm) You’re incorrigible.
Julien: (raising his coffee cup) To science, theatre, and fearless actors in green.
Clara: (clinking her cup against his) And to friends who humor their anxious actresses.
[End Scene]
Science Vs Superstition 
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