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Whether we agree with this Zeno-influenced idea, it is irrefutable that Winnie's sense of time is controlled by a "public" temporality, the bell, rather than by her own, self-directed, "private" temporality. But she, too, is guilty of blindly following this public temporality even in virtual isolation through her rituals that, although they are private practices, conform to public time. Again, we see that the only way out of the present for Winnie is through imagination. Her devotion to the classics means that her frequent allusions are not merely ways to fill the day with words, but to fill them with specific words from the past, to remind her of a life of language prior to her imprisonment. It is unclear if Mildred is Winnie as a young girl, or merely another fantasy she is concocting, but Winnie's power over telling the story is another way in which language brings her back to the past, or at least out of her rut—she even screams in the storytelling, an emotional outburst she never has at any other time.

The audience finally sees or hears what Winnie has been waiting for all along, the song. It is her ritualistic reward at end of day, but it must still be heartfelt, as she often remarks, otherwise it cannot happen. That Winnie is able to sing means that, in a way, she is the "winner." While it takes her dependency on Willie, who shows a vulnerable dependency, to inspire her to sing, she is still able to do it. Still, the reward also depletes, as she previously has admitted she becomes sad after singing, and the long, smile-less pause at the end of the play indicates that life will return to normal again the next day. Indeed, the play is structured around a two-part ritualistic cycle of change and return to stasis. There are two acts to emphasize repetition, the bell rings twice at start of day, and it also rings at the start and end of day. And Winnie and Willie's marriage comes full circle in the final moments. After having found out for certain that they are married, Willie seems to court Winnie again as he crawls toward her. There is possibly some sexual innuendo, when Winnie asks Willie if he wants "something else," and regrets she can no longer "give him a hand." Then Willie grows vulnerable, Winnie sings her song of love and they look at each other, and then the final pause suggests a return to an eternal silence. Winnie is both winner and loser, constantly shifting back and forth, filling the longer and longer days with her empty, present-tense rituals—yet somehow holding out hope. Beckett does not force us to view the title of Happy Days as sincere or ironic but, as the ambiguity of the ending suggests, allows us to see it as both.