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Authors: Dorothy Samuels
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a star.”
Lois plucked another grape from Oprah’s fruit offering. “And what’s this drivel about you being ‘pathetic’?” she continued after consuming it. “Have you forgotten Episode Twenty? The famous one where Marcia gets braces?”
I knew immediately where she was heading. Lois was slipping back into our old Brady Bunch mode. Back in college, the two of us spent endless fun hours debating the deeper meaning of Brady plot lines, and trying to decide which of the 116 half-hour episodes most fit whatever pressing dilemma we found ourselves facing—the underlying assumption being, of course, that the show’s five seasons of inane stories, dialogue, and costumes pretty thoroughly encompassed Life in all of its many complicated variations. This little game used to drive Norma nuts, not just because to her the show epitomized the worst of mass culture, or because Lois and I should have been studying, but because she suspected that to some indefinable degree, we weren’t joking.
Come to think of it, Norma’s distaste for The Brady Bunch and its supposed effect on me wasn’t that much different from my mother’s, except, unlike Mom, Norma never tried to bolster her case by talking up the comparative virtues of The Lucy Show .
“The braces episode,” Lois prodded when I didn’t answer immediately. “It’s quintessential Brady , to use a favorite Q word I learned for the SATs.”
“Yeah, it’s a quintessential episode,” I agreed. “But I’m not sure I’m up for the Bradys today. They’re too upbeat. Besides, I fail to see how rehashing Marcia’s orthodontic problem is supposed to help me forget my jerky orthodontist boyfriend. After last night, I’m taking a mental-health break from all things orthodontic. The way I’m feeling right now, I may even boycott my next dental cleaning.”
“Marcy, think about it,” Lois insisted. “You’re sayingyou’re too pathetic to go on TV is exactly the same as Marcia Brady obsessing that her braces made her too ugly to keep her date for the school dance. Remember the ending? Her date turned out to have braces, too. So you see, she didn’t have to worry. She wound up going to the dance and having a great time. Just like you should. Anyway, you can’t sit home ad infinitum.”
“Lois, it’s been less than twenty-four hours,” I said. “I have no immediate plans to leave this apartment, but to say ‘ad infinitum’ is a tad premature, don’t you think?”
“I know just the thing,” she said. “Why don’t you get out of those yucky duds and come with me? Maybe we can find you a rich Democrat.”
“Thanks, Lois. But if I go out, I’ll just be followed by swarms of reporters and photographers. It will be exactly like Monica. I won’t be able to enjoy the hors d’oeuvres in peace. They’ll catch me reaching for a pig in a blanket and the next day’s tabloids will be full of unflattering snapshots with captions playing off the word ‘pig,’ and lots of expert speculation about the amount of calories I consumed, and whether the breakup with Neil, the creep, is sapping my dietary willpower, which I can tell you with confidence, it surely is.” To emphasize the point, I picked up a Godiva chocolate from Bryant Gumbel’s box and tossed it into my wide-open mouth. “My current plan is to lie low for a while. I’ll let you know if it changes.”
“Marcy, your turning down Oprah and all the rest is either the most noble thing I’ve ever heard, or the most self-destructive,” Lois said, giving me a quick hug as she headed out the door. “I don’t have time right now to figure out which. I’m supposed to be at the event early to greet arriving VIPs. There’s a cute state senator coming in from Oswego who looks promising. Call you later.”
Lois did call later. The state senator from Oswego, she reported, turned out to be gay.
“I didn’t know they allowed gay people in upstate New York,” I said. “But maybe that explains why
Lois plucked another grape from Oprah’s fruit offering. “And what’s this drivel about you being ‘pathetic’?” she continued after consuming it. “Have you forgotten Episode Twenty? The famous one where Marcia gets braces?”
I knew immediately where she was heading. Lois was slipping back into our old Brady Bunch mode. Back in college, the two of us spent endless fun hours debating the deeper meaning of Brady plot lines, and trying to decide which of the 116 half-hour episodes most fit whatever pressing dilemma we found ourselves facing—the underlying assumption being, of course, that the show’s five seasons of inane stories, dialogue, and costumes pretty thoroughly encompassed Life in all of its many complicated variations. This little game used to drive Norma nuts, not just because to her the show epitomized the worst of mass culture, or because Lois and I should have been studying, but because she suspected that to some indefinable degree, we weren’t joking.
Come to think of it, Norma’s distaste for The Brady Bunch and its supposed effect on me wasn’t that much different from my mother’s, except, unlike Mom, Norma never tried to bolster her case by talking up the comparative virtues of The Lucy Show .
“The braces episode,” Lois prodded when I didn’t answer immediately. “It’s quintessential Brady , to use a favorite Q word I learned for the SATs.”
“Yeah, it’s a quintessential episode,” I agreed. “But I’m not sure I’m up for the Bradys today. They’re too upbeat. Besides, I fail to see how rehashing Marcia’s orthodontic problem is supposed to help me forget my jerky orthodontist boyfriend. After last night, I’m taking a mental-health break from all things orthodontic. The way I’m feeling right now, I may even boycott my next dental cleaning.”
“Marcy, think about it,” Lois insisted. “You’re sayingyou’re too pathetic to go on TV is exactly the same as Marcia Brady obsessing that her braces made her too ugly to keep her date for the school dance. Remember the ending? Her date turned out to have braces, too. So you see, she didn’t have to worry. She wound up going to the dance and having a great time. Just like you should. Anyway, you can’t sit home ad infinitum.”
“Lois, it’s been less than twenty-four hours,” I said. “I have no immediate plans to leave this apartment, but to say ‘ad infinitum’ is a tad premature, don’t you think?”
“I know just the thing,” she said. “Why don’t you get out of those yucky duds and come with me? Maybe we can find you a rich Democrat.”
“Thanks, Lois. But if I go out, I’ll just be followed by swarms of reporters and photographers. It will be exactly like Monica. I won’t be able to enjoy the hors d’oeuvres in peace. They’ll catch me reaching for a pig in a blanket and the next day’s tabloids will be full of unflattering snapshots with captions playing off the word ‘pig,’ and lots of expert speculation about the amount of calories I consumed, and whether the breakup with Neil, the creep, is sapping my dietary willpower, which I can tell you with confidence, it surely is.” To emphasize the point, I picked up a Godiva chocolate from Bryant Gumbel’s box and tossed it into my wide-open mouth. “My current plan is to lie low for a while. I’ll let you know if it changes.”
“Marcy, your turning down Oprah and all the rest is either the most noble thing I’ve ever heard, or the most self-destructive,” Lois said, giving me a quick hug as she headed out the door. “I don’t have time right now to figure out which. I’m supposed to be at the event early to greet arriving VIPs. There’s a cute state senator coming in from Oswego who looks promising. Call you later.”
Lois did call later. The state senator from Oswego, she reported, turned out to be gay.
“I didn’t know they allowed gay people in upstate New York,” I said. “But maybe that explains why
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