After a three-day mourning period, I'm ready to talk about Beatrice Arthur, whose untimely death (all of 86 only!) sent the Crammer household (Joy and Purr-l) into a tailspin. God's probably smiling as another one of the Golden Girls (Bea joins esteemed Estelle Getty; hold on as long as you can, Rue and Betty!) puts Heaven in hysterics (me and Jesus don't give a hooey if Bea's Jewish--she's in).
I could go on and on about my favorite episodes of the Golden Girls (like when Bea as Dorothy delivered that line about Blanche--you know the one, oooh, I can't remember it now; you GG fans out there know what I'm talking about). But this week is about Bea, not me. So I will be watching all seven seasons continuously until the full run is done (I did the same last year when Estelle died; thank goodness I get a new set of sick days at the beginning of each year).
So I will close this chapter of my life with a simple ode to my Bea (and not like Jeffrey Ross--what he said about Bea and Sandra Bernhard is shameful): You're a pal and a confidant. Your humor and baritone (or was it bass?) voice will be sorely missed.
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