A Friend of Dorothy
November 25, 2004
When I was friends with a couple of gay guys from church, one of them suggested that I was Dorothy from The Golden Girls. Being the open-minded kind of guy I am, I proudly accepted my new label, courtesy of a genuine homosexual, even though I’ve barely sat through an entire episode of The Golden Girls in my life. So when I got a link to the “Which Golden Girl Are You?” poll at Gay.com, I figured I had to give it a shot.
Now, science has confirmed what Kway told me so many years ago. I am Dorothy.
You’re Dorothy!
“Please, Blanche, we could get herpes listening to this story.” You’re Dorothy, the whip-smart substitute teacher who kicks ass at Scrabble and Jeopardy. You dish out the sassback to your loved ones, but you’d never really send them to nursing home Shady Pines. Your comebacks (“Did you just get back from a funeral?” “No, Rose, we were singing backup for Johnny Cash.”) get funnier each time we hear them.
I hate the Golden Girls and all they stand for. There is something deeply disturbing about that show, and that is not just my dislike of the elderly talking.