Bad things are happening.
Really bad things.
I, my dears, am dying.
My starring role is soon to be over. My sitcom is being canceled.
But I’m the only who knows. There’s no reason to reveal the finale to the cast yet. It would only spoil our last season together.
I will not burden my friends with my health issues during what are supposed to be the carefree years of their lives. I’m a year away from Medicare, and my wonky insurance wouldn’t cover all my costs. I do not have an IRA to cash in to help with medical bills. I have bonnets and baubles.
What if they had to sell this house because of me?
I cannot—no, I will not!—burden them with my struggles.
And that’s okay. Truly it is.
To be honest, I died a long time ago. When John passed away. We were one soul, and that rarely happens in this life. I was given the greatest gift, and I will leave this world forever grateful for that.
My friends laugh.
I wish they understood that happy endings only take place on old sitcoms where a snappy one-liner, a laugh track, a glass of Bartles & Jaymes and a platter of pizza rolls could erase all your troubles, if for only a half hour. As my waiter made abundantly clear, we are old. Our calendars are stamped with an end date. I just happen to know mine will come a little sooner than theirs.
Ron eyes me closely. He is suspicious. I must lie again.
“To the Church of Mary!” I suddenly say, holding up my glass.
“To family!” The Golden Gays yell.
“Alexa!” I command our outdoor speaker. “Play Cher!”
I cannot help but smile at Alexa’s choice. That AI vixen is an even bigger bitch than I am.
“Do you believe in life after love?” Cher asks, singing “Believe.”
Barry
I have not watched a sitcom on TV in over forty years.
Not a singleSeinfeld,Cheers,The Office,Big Bang Theory. Not one episode ofFriends, my friends.
That’s because I bet you never knew that in the pilot episode ofThe Golden Girls, there was a gay character named Coco, the ladies’ housekeeper and cook.
He was supposed to be one of the leads, alongside Dorothy, Rose and Blanche.
Estelle Getty, who famously played Dorothy’s mother, Sophia, was originally just a guest star. She was to appear on occasion but never be a series regular.
That role was Coco’s.
But everything changed when the pilot was shown to test audiences. Sophia was such a hit with viewers that she was promoted to a full-time cast member. The audience adored Sophia’s mix of withering one-liners, honesty and maternal tenderness.
But perhaps, in retrospect, they were a bit too scared to say they did not like the out gay character, who—at the time—was a rarity on TV save for, say, Jodie Dallas onSoap, played by Billy Crystal.
Instead, producers blamed the kitchen.
If you ever watched the show, you know that the kitchen was the center of the women’s universe in Florida.
It was pure ’80s grandmotherly glory with its laminate countertops, builder-grade cabinets, peel-and-stick tile, neutral tones, copper moldseverywhere, vintage Italian ceramic vegetables on a jute rope, a rolling island (probably from Pier 1), café curtains and the famed faux bamboo dinette set that included...
