Recently, while on a road trip, we were stuck in the backseat of a Honda Accord with our tall and handsome friend. The two girls in the front of the car were asking questions from a box of Trivial Pursuit Pop Culture cards. They ran the gamut from “Punky Brewster” to dancing Yeltsin to “Die Harder,” and we were all pretty much doing equally well. Then came this question:
“In what Maine town does Jessica Fletcher live on ‘Murder, She Wrote’?”
The girls were silent, but us two gays in the back shrieked at the same time, “Cabot Cove!”
There was an awkward pause, after which we hugged TAHF and quietly thanked him for dating us.
“Murder, She Wrote” was “The Golden Girls” for gays who weren’t queer. Many people thought the show was repetitive and obvious (and that Jessica Fletcher was clearly a murderer because wherever she went, people immediately croaked). But we’re betting that you had a weird fascination with the show. You may not have known about Angela Lansbury’s legendary Broadway past, but something about her drew you in. If you were like us, you may have even forced your family to go on the “Murder, She Wrote” “ride” at Universal Studios, instead of the “Jaws” boat. (In that case, we’re betting your older brother also beat you up in the hotel later).
Whatever the case, by the time you got to the age where you were digging up vintage “Mame” recordings and watching old VHS’s of “Bedknobs and Broomsticks,” you were already hooked. How could you have known dear old Angela was a gateway drug that would lead you straight to the cockpipe?