Mary Richards Dies from a Botched Boob Job

NEW YORK — Mary Richards died on Friday due to complications from a botched boob job. The 77-year-old Richards, a New York City resident, had been obsessed of late with her fading good looks, which, in reality, had faded two decades ago when she put on a ton of weight after learning that her husband, Steve, was having an affair with the granddaughter of her friend, Phyllis Lindstrom. The “other woman,” a sex blogger, lived in San Francisco, yet the ever gullible Mary bought her former politician husband’s story about frequent “business trips” out west, though Steve had no business interests, nor aptitude for business, and moreover had been out of politics since the famous scandal involving him and the disappearance of all the change in the tip jar at Sal’s Deli. But eventually it was Phyllis, old pain-in-the-ass Phyllis, who was once Mary’s landlord in Minneapolis until she took up a lesbian lifestyle in San Fran, who told Mary of the tryst while blaming it all on the inherent evil of men. “Why do you think I started licking box?” said Phyllis over the phone.

Mary’s other Minneapolis friend, Rhoda Morgenstern, now Mary’s next-door neighbor on the Upper East Side, was furious at the news of the affair. “What’s wrong with my granddaughter, Myra? Sure she has her grandmother’s weight problem, but so long as she has her own spin-off series and, with it, ABC’s vast grooming, dietary and fitness training resources at her disposal, if only to give viewers an unrealistic picture  of a dowdy, sarcastic young lady with low self-esteem, she can be quite attractive. And, Mary, my Myra, is local. Those flights to California have to be eating into your retirement fund.” A sniffling Mary countered by saying that at least Steve was racking up the frequent flyer mileage, which they could use when they travel to Europe next year.

It must be noted that Rhoda and Phyllis had been sworn enemies since landlord Phyllis had given the attractive Mary her best apartment at a discount price while relegating the chunky Rhoda to the attic – and now the feud had carried into the third generation. In the end, Mary took solace in food, with her and Rhoda working out a six-month plan to hit every ice cream and fudge shop in Manhattan, and then punctuating each day’s binge by standing in the middle of Time’s Square and tossing their tams in the air while singing in perfect harmony “We’re gonna make it after all” – that is, until the inevitable Pakistani cab driver yelled out: “Geet out of dee way, you crazy old beetches!”

Years later, Rhoda went senile, and thus the binging came to a gradual stop to be replaced by another obsession: The Lou Grant Diaries. Lou Grant had been a news producer for the Minneapolis TV station, WJM, in 1970 when he hired the perky, inexperienced Mary Richards to be his associate producer. The entry in Lou’s diary that night reads: “Can’t stop masturbating thinking of this new broad at work, Mary, whom I plan to keep promoting for no other reason than to keep hearing the cherished phrase, ‘Ah, Mr. Grant.’” This was followed by less flattering lines: “Think Murray Slaughter may be a fairy. Who talks with that kind of lilt in Minneapolis?…Ted Baxter is about to get the extra-wide Grant foot up his ass…Wow, two homosexual references – gee, I would read something into that if I hadn’t just loped the mule to Mary. On other hand, I could be bi…”

Little did Lou Grant know that the spunky Mary would trade on her good looks to rise in the TV news industry until she was working in New York as a news producer and marrying a congressman, Steve. The diary during these years grows very dark: “I guess I was nothing but a fat, old man whom this ambitious little slut used and then threw away when she got what she wanted. What a chump, Lou. And to think that I even had my back waxed (when it was not yet fashionable) to make myself attractive to Mary…But I still love her.”

It was at this time that Steve put a restraining order on Grant.

It was also at this time that Murray Slaughter finally came out of the closet and moved to Greenwich Village. This represented the full arrival of Mary Richards, as she now had a “gay friend,” to whom she could confide her personal drama.

Mary’s lone offspring, Rose, had fought her mother about the boob job. “Mom, let’s face it, you can’t be walking around with a seventy-seven-year-old body with this gigantic, perfect rack. My self-image is bad enough with my training-bra-sized titties without being compared to my mother and her spherical double-d’s.”

Mary’s ashes will be spread over Edward R. Murrow’s grave, if he has a grave, while the leaked silicone from her fatal operation will be recycled for Rose – in a deal to prevent her suing the plastic surgeon — to use for her own implants in honor of her dead mother. “If my mother couldn’t attain her dream of a fabulous set of fake knockers, then, as her daughter, I will fulfill that dream. I love you, Mom.”

Yes, Love Was All Around.

(Visit my website: http://www.authorjamesfjohnson.com)

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