I mowed the lawn quickly this morning, running around the yard, pushing the lawnmower like one of those too fit parents who push their kids in jogging strollers. I was trying to beat the rain, which I did.

When I got back inside, I went to my room to get stuff for my shower. I was sweaty, rainy, and smelly of grass and gas (not mine). As I usually do, I flicked on the tv while getting my stuff. It was 11am. I always wonder who’s on Ellen (not literally, although anything could happen, and that would certainly make for “good tv”).

The sound came on first, and I couldn’t recognize the voices. As the picture came in, I realized that I was on channel 47, and I was hearing and seeing the indominitable Mrs. Garrett. In her shrill voice, she was sassing back to Mr. Drummond in the way that only indominatable redheads can sass back to their employers. She sassed, “I don’t do boys.” He reacted with typical, D-list, sitcom actor skill. (Oh, my god. I just found out that Conrad Bain, the actor who "portrayed" Mr. Drummond, was born in Alberta. Yikes! Another fine Canadian export to Hollywood.)

I reeled from the double and triple entendres of that phrase. It made me wonder about naivete. I used to watch Diff’rent Strokes (oh, the entendres…and what’s with that apostrophe, maikopunk?) when it was first on tv. I don’t remember it being at all racy (except, you know, the plotline about a rich white guy adopting to Afro-American kids from the ghetto…and we all know how well that social experiment turned out: Arnold; Willis; Bitchface/Kinberly). So I had to think to myself, which was more naïve…me or the ‘80s? I’ll leave it to you, my e-friends, to decide.