4-13: “Magnificent Obsession”

I’m sorry I haven’t posted anything new in so long. Apart from the fact that I started an actual paying part-time job which I’ve struggled to time-manage, I’ve been through some shit lately. Fortunately, that shit is on the way to resolution, I’ve caught up on my job, and I am delighted to be at my computer on a very snowy mountain day. It’s a new year. Here’s a new post.

This episode is so underrated. I don’t do the end justice; Lisa Whelchel and Nancy McKeon are freaking geniuses in the last scenes. This is the kind of episode where you should go watch it immediately and then come back and read my recap. I promise you my recap will still be worth reading.

The episode begins with the girls in the dining room putting together signs for a rally to save the baby seals. That was such a major 80s issue. The issue has waned in popularity; perhaps it is encompassed in the broader opposition against the fur trade. There are so many shitty things going on in the world. I don’t know how any of us sleeps at night.

The girls’ newly minted (and never seen again) interest in the plight of baby seals is due to Blair’s new boyfriend. He’s a generically attractive 80s white guy named – wait for it – Chad. Chad Broxton. Interestingly, I was never able to get an introductory screen shot of him with which I was happy, which I’m totally OK with because he’s such a dick he doesn’t deserve to have his picture prominently displayed on my blog. Apologies to Gary Hudson, the actor playing Chad. I’m sure he’s a lovely guy, and he has certainly aged well. He was in Cold Case. Everyone was in Cold Case. I love that show.

To his credit, Chad has opened Blair’s eyes to the fact that there are things in the world that suck, and that as a rich person, there are things she can do about it.

To his detriment, Chad is an asshole. He’s the kind of dude who needs to control women just for the sake of being in control, regardless of what he actually thinks about the situation. Blair is so cowed by him that she turns into a babbling brainless bimbo, which douchebag thinks is adorable. It was only six episodes ago that Jo overdid the dumb act to keep a dude, and Blair called her on it.

Chad tells Blair that she looks lovely and notices her new blouse, but criticizes her for not getting it in blue. I tend to agree that mustard yellow should have no place in anyone’s wardrobe, but it’s still a shitty thing to say. Tootie and Mrs. G agree.

Chad clarifies that she looks good, but when everything else is perfect, something like this color faux pas stands out like a wart. Blair thanks him for letting her know.

Blair meekly and desperately tries to invite Chad to a “Save our Streams” fundraiser at the country club, which he says he’d like to attend, but a week from Thursday is too far in advance for him to make plans. I’m not much of a planner either, but ten or so days? You only turn that down if you hope something better comes up, and if you hope for something better than a night out with your significant other, there are problems in the relationship. I am all too painfully aware of this.

What’s worse, Blair understands that his acceptance is conditioned on not finding anything better to do, and she tells him that a “maybe” that will turn into a “no” if something better comes up is just fine with her. Everyone is grossed out. Chad leaves, and Blair’s friends let her have it.

Blair says she’s lucky that he didn’t say no; she was afraid to ask him in the first place and she hopes he doesn’t have anything better to do. Tootie points out that “lucky,” “afraid,” and “hope” are words that Blair Warner uses regarding algebra tests, not dudes. Blair concludes that it’s because for the first time in her life, she’s really in love.

Vomit.

Back in the kitchen the evening before Blair’s fundraiser, Natalie and Tootie try to play chess as Blair hovers over them between bouts of pacing. Jo encourages Blair to do something rather than waiting for Chad to call, and Blair protests that he’s an important part of her life. Natalie corrects that he’s not an “important” part of her life; he’s become her whole life.

The phone rings and Blair enthusiastically rushes to answer it. While she’s gone, the girls discuss her strange behavior. Jo doesn’t believe it will last, because “Blair Warner doesn’t get sweaty palms over a guy.”

Well she didn’t before, anyway. Blair comes back bubbling that she’s glad she was available to take the phone call, because it was Chad, changing his “maybe” to a “yes” for the fundraiser the following night. She’s so happy and grateful and pathetic about his late, lukewarm acceptance of her invitation that even Jo understands that the situation has gotten dire.

The next night, Blair sits woodenly on a dining room chair, dressed to go out. The girls muse that she’s been sitting there for an hour waiting for Chad. He’s not late, though; she’s uncharacteristically ready early. Mrs. G begins to understand the magnitude of the situation and approaches her for a shoulder pat and chat. Blair doesn’t want a drink, she doesn’t want a snack, and she doesn’t want to stand up. She just wants to wait for Chad.

Lo and behold, douchebag shows up. He tells her how lovely she looks and then suggests that she should cut off all her hair. I’ll be the first to encourage anyone to mow those flowing locks. Short hair rules. But “You look great, now change” never goes over well. I should know.

Later that night, Mrs. G works on a jigsaw puzzle with Natalie and Tootie. Enter a stricken, confused-looking Blair.

Mrs. G sunnily comments that she wasn’t expecting Blair back so early. After some small talk, we learn why Blair is back so early: Blair introduced Chad around, and he left with Millie Hotchkiss. Blair had to take a cab back from the fundraiser.

Ugh. I have recently learned that as much as I want to drop-kick gender essentialism, the stereotype of the inept, clueless dude has a lot of truth. Of course #NotAllMen, but I have more data points than I care to admit regarding mind-boggling ignorance on the part of male-identified penis owners. That doesn’t necessarily make it better, but it’s a factor to be considered in the evaluation of whether to end a relationship over a matter of male dumbshittery. Blair and Chad have been together for about a second, so Tootie and Mrs. G reasonably assume that after he abandoned her at the fundraiser, Blair will be abandoning Chad’s ass. But no, she cries about how she doesn’t want a better fish, she wants Chad, and tonight’s transgression will be forgiven if he calls her tomorrow.

I understand the incredulity of Mrs. G, Tootie, and Natalie over Blair’s behavior. If one of my friends came to me with a similar story, I would think leaving is a no-brainer. But it turns out that things might be a bit more complicated than that sometimes. Probably not for high-school Blair, who had a different date three episodes ago, and college Chad, who has demonstrated nothing of value to Blair. But it might be more complicated for a 44-year-old married woman. Hypothetically.

The next day, Blair and Jo return from class and Jo reports that while Blair’s body was certainly there, her mind was another matter. Blair resignedly assumes that Chad didn’t call, and Tootie emphasizes that that’s a good thing – who wants to be with a man who ditches you during a date?

Mrs. Garrett laments that she’s a basically honest person, so she reluctantly tells Blair that Chad did call. He and his friends are going skiing in Vermont tomorrow, and Blair should call before seven a.m. if she wants to join. Blair is ecstatic; Natalie snarks that at least she can afford cab fare back from Vermont, while Tootie’s more gentle hand persuades Blair to turn down the invitation. Blair declares that she’ll call and say she isn’t going.

Jo has other ideas. Blair will not call him at all, and her support sisters will keep her occupied until he leaves in the morning. Jo emphasizes that they’ll do anything it takes to keep her mind off him. Anything indeed.

Late that night, Blair descends the staircase and shuffles into the lounge, where she stares longingly at the phone. She picks it up and puts it back down before doing what one always does when one must do anything other what one actually wants to do: open the refrigerator and take out whatever is in there, no matter what it is. In this case, it appears to be some kind of carcass. Jo comes down and looks disgusted, but probably not for the same reasons I am.

Blair defensively declares that she just came down for a snack. She grabs her dead animal and heads to the dining room. Jo stays right on her heels. Blair tries to continue into the lounge. Jo stays stuck to her. Face it Blair, Jo is not going to let you do something stupid.

Once again, I’m forced to feel in conflict with my opposition to gender essentialism. These ladies are tightly in Blair’s corner for her own good, and it’s beautiful to watch. I don’t know that I could have gotten through my shit without a few amazing women who have reached out and made me feel supported. There are a couple of men who have been wonderful as well, and I don’t want to diminish the value of their support. But I have to admit that it would not have been enough. Many thanks to my sisters, my cousin, and several good friends.

A time-lapse fade back to the lounge shows the carcass stripped and Blair venting to Jo. She speaks of how she thinks of him all the time and second-guesses everything she does.

“I never knew there was so much wrong with me until Chad!”

Jo says what we’re all thinking.

By our next time-lapse fade, Jo is barely awake as Blair recounts her childhood trauma:

“And so I went to my father, and I begged, and I pleaded, and I cried. And I showed him that furry little face, and I said, ‘Please, daddy! Please! I want the grey one! I want the grey one!’ And he looked at me, and he said, ‘You will take the pony I picked out for you and like it.”

For real, though, one of the things I’m learning in my quest for self-improvement is just how much our childhood traumas fuck us up for the rest of our lives. It doesn’t have to be something horrific; it’s simply a matter of things that made us feel less safe, or ignored, or abandoned, or otherwise triggered. “Triggered” has become a dirty word these days, but it’s a real goddamn thing. Ask any couples therapist.

Blair, now huddled under Jo’s green blanket with her, laments that Chad wasn’t like the other guys, and Jo wisely points out that he’s the only one who didn’t treat her like she was perfect, and she probably wouldn’t have gone so nuts if he did.

Blair: “If I’m not perfect – and that’s a big ‘if,’ it certainly wasn’t his place to say so.”

Oh, good. Blair hasn’t lost all her mojo. You could tell I hadn’t lost all my mojo because for Christmas I gave people socks with my picture on them.

Jo: “Right. It’s my place.”

Later, Blair wakes up and looks at her watch.

“Jo, wake up! We can go to sleep now!”

No, they haven’t just discovered that they’re madly in love with each other and they’re gonna make out. They look like that because the phone has rung. Jo answers and listens.

Drunk with crisis fatigue, lack of sleep, and sisterhood, Blair figures out through their guffaws that it is indeed Chad on the phone. She wants to know what he wants, and the girls stifle their chuckles so that Jo can ask.

The mood turns somber. Jo reports that they got a late start, and there’s still room in the car if Blair wants to go on the ski trip.

Jo asks her if she wants to go.

Blair: “Yeah. But I don’t want to want to go.”

Oh sister, you have no idea how much I hear you.

But Blair does one better than me, because she strongly concludes, “I don’t want to go.”

Jo offers to tell him, but Blair insists on doing it herself. Jo gives her the phone, and she raises it to her ear, then slowly and wordlessly hangs it up. The studio audience applauds. We’re all proud of you, Blair.