My Secret Shame

When I was young, I spent many an afternoon poring over the pages of such things as Teen Beat and Tiger Beat magazines where I could get my fill of the current hotties o’ day.

My mom was a wicked cold-hearted icy shade of evil particular about us not putting anything on the walls so unlike every other teen in America who had posters up, I was left to admire them within the pages of teen idol mags.

I discovered a page as I was obsessing, where you could write to these celebrities and join their fan clubs.

Seeing as how I was apparently open to a relationship with any willing celebrity at that point, I found it necessary to fan all of them.

Most of them didn’t answer because, let’s face it, I was a 12 year old and that’s pretty gross. But I remember the ones that did.

Leif Garrett. I’m sorry!!! I didn’t know, ok?

I’m not apologizing for Chachi. I should, but I’m not. He was cute. Admit it.

The Fonz, cuz that thumbs up move he had unified America, right? For reals.

But, really? Really? What was I thinking here? Arnold Horshack was not necessary, not necessary at all.

But that was then. I learned my lesson and left the celebrities alone.

Until….

…1990 as a new mother of two small children, when I may have written a fan letter to Color Me Badd.

Bite me.