(The first thing you need to know is that the following is a rant based on my irrational rage towards Florence Henderson for being a regular human being like the rest of us. If you’re new here, you should probably skip this post as it is not typical of my generally witty prose (ha). If you’re not new here, then you know that I’m struggling to write ANYTHING because I’m fucking depressed so it’s probably not surprising that I’m ranting. Oh, and it’s my rant, I’m not asking anyone to agree with me or to question the validity of my irrational feelings. So there.)
So, the big “entertainment news” today is Florence Henderson announcing to the world that she cheated on one of her husbands with a former mayor of New York City, who gave her crabs.
I could have lived a full and happy life without knowing that Mrs. Brady slept around and had critters in her cookie. In fact, I would prefer to unknow this information, thankyouverymuch.
And yes, I admit that my reaction to this information is completely out of character for me – I’m usually the person dying to know all the juicy details about everything, especially about celebrities, and sex. And, as we have established, I have compulsive disclosure disorder myself, so it’s not like I haven’t shared personal information inappropriately on numerous occasions. I totally have.
But I’m not Mrs. Brady!
I’m not the one who built my career on a character who was idolized by an entire generation of kids as the perfect mother! Mrs. Brady was always perfectly dressed, perfectly coiffed, perfectly reasonable and perfectly in-synch with her kids. She had a good sense of humor and was, well, spunky. Further, she only had eyes for her husband.
And Florence never did anything to suggest that she was anything but exactly like Mrs. Brady, at least in public. I mean, she tried to change her image when she went on Dancing With The Stars, but that was kind of cute, in an old lady way. Or disturbing, depending on how you looked at it. Anyway, it was also like 100 years after the show, so it didn’t affect her goody-goody image from back then. Whatever. It seemed to work out for her. So I have to ask…
Why now, Florence?
Call me crazy, Flo, but I don’t think your need to convince people that you were the original Kardashian sister outweighs the need for an entire generation of people to have something about their childhood that was simple and sweet and good, even if it was a character in a television program.
And, for the love of GOD, even if you felt compelled to share your sexual exploits, why tell us about the crabs?
It makes no sense. Lots of famous people have “secrets” that they hide for a long time and then want to get off their chest. Like being anorexic, or having an abortion, or being a meth addict or having an extra vagina…. And then they reveal their big secret, usually stating that they hope telling their story will help other people in the same situation.
I don’t know, Flo, it doesn’t seem like your happy little disclosure about having crabs is designed to encourage all those people who have at one time or another had cooties in their privates feel better about themselves. I can’t imagine that tons of people are feeling grateful that they can finally talk about having crabs because you have taken the lead on this painful, controversial issue.
So, pretty much, you’ve fucked up my childhood for no good reason.
Thanks a bunch 🙂