Who's That Girl?

Diamonds, Daisies, Snowflakes, That Girl. I waited through thirty-six hours
of TV Land’s “That Girl” weekend marathon to hear those words sung.
How was I suppose to remember that the theme song only gained lyrics
around the same time Ann Marie started curling her hair under, as
opposed to her trademark flip. That was retooling a show in 1969 I guess,
a new ‘do and some lyrics. Well it was worth it to finally hear that catchy
theme again while I watched Marlo Thomas run around the streets of
Manhattan flying a kite in representation of her freedom. I watch for Marlo
winking at her own reflection in Bloomingdale’s window with eyelids so
heavy with false lashes, she appears to be more in the throes of an
epileptic seizure than winking. But I do love catchy T.V. theme songs, why
else would anyone watch that idiotic Green Acres if it weren’t for its catchy
theme song; and maybe the occasional fantasy about Ebb, the lonely,
innocent farm hand?

After about ten hours of laying in bed wrapped around an extra-firm body
pillow, some comfort foods placed strategically around my circumference,
and watching Ann sort out her relationship issues with Donald Hollinger,
feelings started rising in me that I haven’t experienced since T.V. Land’s
The Mary Tyler Moore Show marathon several years back. I realized that
they both had done the reverse hair flip, but that wasn’t the cause of my
anxiety, besides, Samantha Stevens’ hair did the reverse flip and I had no
issues with that. It was deeper than that. Then I realized: it was the
boyfriends.

I must admit, I was always more absorbed in Mary Richards’ love life.
After all, she had a different date every week. The show ran for seven
years with about twenty-five episodes per season; that’s about 175 dates.
What a Ho! But not really. That’s what made Mary’s love life so great, all
these men wanted her, but not in an overtly sexual way, they just seemed
content to take her out to dinner. They just wanted to be with perfect,
pretty, Mary. There was no sex, no messy morning cleanup. None of them
ever tried to place her hand on their erections, and none ever suggested
trying to get Rhoda involved in a threesome. It was all so pretty. Oh to be
Mary, she turned the world on with her smile while me and my face
seemed to just be picking up one loser after the next.

In truth, I’ve been on the market for long enough to know that there are a lot
less losers in the world than the girls at lunch would have you think. It’s
probably true that we are more each other’s losers, or more politely, each
other’s Mr./Ms Wrongs. Then again there doesn’t seem to be a lot of Mary
Richards-type boyfriends out there, or even many Donald Hollingers. I
have to admit, for the better part of my adult life I wouldn’t have recognized
the worth of a man with a sensible haircut and a steady job like Donald; I
think I was lost in some collective Shirelles song, just waiting for some
clueless, sexy, boy-man to give me his ring. I wanted the real leader of the
pack, only without the motorcycle accident; after all, I wasn’t out to be the
gay Jackie O, even if that does have a wonderful sense of the dramatic to
it.

Of course things are different now. It would be nice to go on a date with
Donald Hollinger. So he’s a little square, he was a writer for a great
metropolitan newspaper, and though he was no Clark Kent/Superman, I’m
sure he could engage in pretty interesting conversation. For all of Ann
Marie’s zany situations that Donald got sucked into, he never once lost his
temper with her. Even I must admit that if I had that hyper, screechy voice
in my face all day, I’d have taken a poke or two at her – and I’m a pacifist.
But Donald just followed her around dutifully week after week, telling her
how wonderful she was in her latest acting job – which of course she
landed week after week - what a life.

And as for Mary Richards, for as much as she dated, she was always at
work the next day on time and sober. Never any worse for the wear, she
sat contently pecking her typewriter keys at her producer’s desk while
Lou, Murray, and Ted fantasized about how wonderful life would be
married to Mary, just like at my job. Well, not really, although once one of
the Mexican prep cooks in the downstairs kitchen did flash me his penis
while I condensed fourteen bottles of ketchup into six – but it wasn’t really
the same.

I could be angry with Ann and Mary for giving me exaggerated
expectations in my youth, for showing me a world that was perfect - but for
the fact that it really didn’t exist, but I choose not too. There is some
consolation for those truly envious of the sitcom ladies who had it all: by
1972 Ted Bessel a.k.a. Donald Hollinger, had moved over to CBS and
was now dating Mary Richards, seemingly mindless of ole Ann Marie.
What a dog. Poor Ann, I wish I could call her up, see if she’d like to do
something this weekend. Maybe we could get a couple of kites and run
through the streets of Manhattan, you know, kind of start all over again.