I love the Golden Girls. When I was a kid, I’d get a bunch of my Barbies together and make them pretend to be Dorothy, Blanche, Rose, and Sophia. I’d even line them up along the window and make them do a routine to the theme song. “Thank you for being a friend…Travel down the road and back again…your heart is true…you’re a friend and a confidante…” (Just imagine that being sung off-key by an nine year old as she waves a bunch of raggedy Barbie dolls. Entertaining, huh?)
I still watch Golden Girls. There’s nothing more relaxing on a rainy day than a cup of tea, some Twinkies, and a Golden Girls marathon.
I’d just finished watching one when Hubs came home one night. He plopped down on the couch just as I got the idea of the lifetime.
ME: Hey, I’ve been thinking and we have the perfect amount of people and dogs living in this house to do Golden Girl reenactments. Sugar can be Blanche because she’s kinda slutty. Mama can be Sophia because she’s old and crotchety. I’ll be Rose because I have so many stories and you can be Dorothy because you’re tall.
HIM: [Silent stares at me for a few minutes. Then gets up and walks out of the room without saying a word.]
ME: OK, fine. You can be Blanche. No need to get mad about it.