Groucho and Marilyn Do Murder

On Friday, we attended a murder mystery dinner. Jamie was the perfect Groucho Marx and I was none other than the illustrious Marilyn Monroe. This is the second time in three months I have played a skank. On our cruise, we did a murder mystery and I was the loose woman who had an affair with the ship’s captain. Coincidence or typecast? Hmmm….

Our friends, Eva and Jon, went all out for the occasion. I mean, it’s not everyday you have John Wayne, Ginger Rogers, Fred Astaire, Joni Mitchell, Elvis, Jimi Hendrix, Patsy Kline and Judy Garland at your place. We were greeted with a red carpet, showered with gifts and indulged in delicious food. Oh, and did I mention there was a murder?

As “perfect” as everyone thought I was for the role, I was no Marilyn. I’ve never watched any of her movies nor had a fan blowing up my skirt for more than 10 seconds at at time. But I put forth a good effort and even straightened my hair for the occasion. Too bad I had an allergic reaction to my hairspray. This, after spending the entirety of the 80s with the mother of all hair-sprayed bangs.

Even worse was that when prepping me on her voice, my little Groucho made a better Marilyn than I.

I had a grand time acting out the murder. How could I not with lines like “I’m sooooo sick of being a sex symbol and my hour-glass shape.”

Coincidentally, I said the same thing just last week.

Or the very revealing scripted conversation with none other than Groucho (because who could resist that profile?): “Such lovely men at the party like you, Groucho. You’re a kook but such a kind kook. Let’s go find a room somewhere and I’ll show you why blondes are soooo special….Sorry baby, but some gals have a seven-year itch, mine’s more of a seven-minute itch.”

Jamie wishes I said the same thing just last week.

In the end, none of us solved the mystery. Part of it was the script wasn’t very well written (minus my memorable lines), the other part was we’re s-t-u-p-i-d. On our invitations, we were given clothing suggestions. Everyone except for Jimi Hendrix who was required to bring a guitar and wear a large ring. Coincidentally, these were also the murder weapons. Don’t look for us on C.S.I. anytime soon.


When not making our pathetic attempts to solve the murder, there were also memorable dinner conversations. Ginger proudly announced that her daughter won student of the month and her son received early admission into high school algebra.

As we all himed and hawed in admiration, good ol’ Groucho made an announcement of his own:

“Hadley had diarrhea last week and then rubbed her butt all over the wall.”

I could not have been more proud….

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