From my novel The Sanity Matinee, published in 1987:
Sprayberry got out of the truck and walked to the front door. He had meant to ask Andrew if Maxine had learned of the death of her dog. He wanted to know how upset to expect her. He opened the door and was greeted by loud music, smoky air, and the sudden stares of a dozen strangers. Across the room, he caught sight of Angelica serving snacks from a tray. Winding through the house, a line of partygoers were dancing the bunny hop, kicking out their left leg in unison, then their right, linked together by their hands on the waist of the person preceding them in the chain. Some had drinks in their hands. At the front of the line, who should be leading this parade but his lovely cheerleading wife, setting the pace of the dance. Sprayberry was absolutely livid at the sight of her. Sensing when the front of the bunny-hopping line would pass an open doorway, he broke in at just the right moment, grabbing onto his wife, hopping in rhythm to the dance.
"I'm really, really angry, Terri," he said as the stranger behind him locked onto his hips.
She turned slightly to see who was speaking to her above the noise. "Hi, honey," she said. "Glad to see Andrew found you okay."
"How could you leave me like that? That was a horrible thing to do. What if Andrew hadn't found me?" Sprayberry awaited an answer, rattling the bottle of pills in his pants pocket as the bunny hop wound its way through the house. In the living room, Sprayberry looked to his rear. Maxine was in line back there, and she gave him a grand wave when he turned to look. She didn't look too torn up with grief over the loss of her pet.
"Mom was driving me crazy at the hospital while you were in that room," Terri told him. "I had to get her out of there, and I doubt if she would have left without me. It might have been the wrong thing to do, but emergency rooms are confusing. Anyway, you're back on your feet. Kick off your shoes and fix yourself a drink."
"I may be on my feet," Sprayberry said, hanging on to Terri's hopping lead. "But I've got a pocketful of pills."
"Tell me what you want me to do to make you feel better," Terri shouted over the noise of the party. "Tell me exactly."
Sprayberry danced along for a few moments. He still felt abandoned, but Terri was obviously trying to make up for it. "I want you to be there when I wake up in the morning," he said. "If you're up before me, stay in the room."
"You want me to watch you sleep?"
"Just don't leave me," he said. "I want you there."
"All right," she answered.
Years later, this very specific comic scene was virtually duplicated on the TV sitcom Mad About You, where a husband and wife conducted an argument while dancing the bunny hop through a house. It’s not as if a whole genre of argumentative bunny-hoppers existed for the TV writer to tap for his inspiration.
So, what recourse does a writer have when he’s ripped off? I still don’t know.
