We all cope in different ways in These Troubled Times. Some of us spend loads of free time doing Yoga With Adriene. Some of us spend months making up cocktails using weirdo liqueurs. Some of us dye our hair pink because why not, it’s just hair, it’s not like it’s ever going to see a salon again, and some of us impulsively buy an ice cream maker and then make tons of ice cream, also with those liqueurs. (Amaro ice cream! You’re welcome!) And yes, all of those are the same person, and yes, that person is writing this article, but none of those are the coping mechanisms of the moment. No, the pandemic phase this writer has most recently entered is “compulsively watching Murder, She Wrote while doing embroidery projects and then scouring Etsy for Jessica Fletcher merch and trying not to buy it.”
Come on in, the water’s fine.
For those who are unfamiliar with one of TV’s greatest detectives, here’s the premise. Jessica Fletcher (living legend Angela Lansbury) was a teacher for most of her life, but after the death of her husband Frank, she gets a new hobby: she starts writing mystery novels. Grady (Michael Horton), one of her 9,345 nephews, finds one of her manuscripts in her cute-as-shit home in Cabot Cove, Maine, reads it, and submits it to a publisher without her knowledge. (Grady is the worst.) In no time at all, Jessica becomes a world-famous mystery writer, and everywhere she goes, people seem to get murdered, and she’s there to discover whodunnit.
First things first: If you’re thinking about making a journey to Cabot Cove—and you really should, because there’s one where a dog inherits a million dollars and then gets framed for murder, and there’s another one where the murder weapon is a self-driving car, and there’s one where Lansbury also plays Jessica’s British cousin who fakes her own death after someone tries to kill her outside the music hall where she sings every night—then let’s save you a Google search. At the moment (and in the U.S.), Murder, She Wrote can be streamed in full via Peacock; there are also five seasons available through Prime (via IMDb TV). There’s also a decent chance that it’s playing somewhere on your television right now, as you’re reading this. It’s on a lot.
Murder, She Wrote fucking rules. Here’s all the stuff people listed on Etsy, which one perhaps might be trying very hard not to buy. This isn’t an affiliate thing, either; this stuff is just great. First: the “Jessica Fletcher is probably a serial killer, right?” shirt.
This is a popular theme. But perhaps you don’t want to express your Murder, She Wrote
coping strategy fandom through your apparel. In that case, perhaps a disturbing, murder-y sticker is more your speed?
Perhaps you’d prefer something less obvious. Some souvenirs from picturesque Cabot Cove, perhaps?
Or maybe you just need Aunt Jessica to beam down at you as she tries to solve the mystery of why you’re still afraid of the dark?
Or from your fridge?
If you buy this card and have it sent to you through the United States Postal Service, you can then also send it to someone via the United States Postal Service and scratch that “I need to buy something related to Murder, She Wrote because I need that sweet sweet dopamine” itch, all at once.
It is very important that someone purchase this nightgown. Someone.
And here’s Jessica with Dorothy Zbornak and Julia Sugarbaker, a lovely piece of art that’s just begging to be lovingly placed on a shelf behind the bar at your favorite LGBTQ drinking establishment, once that’s a possibility.
This one’s timely.
Uh, why not?
There are many, many more. Oh, and there are, of course, embroidery projects, just in case you’re coping by doing embroidery while watching Murder, She Wrote. Have a nice weekend.
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