Imagine being around Uncle Jesse, perhaps the first documented metrosexual, for several hours a day. He’s always looking in the mirror, constantly fixing his mullet while you’re sitting there, neglected, trying not to look at his inappropriate jeans bulge. It’s maddening. Then imagine having Danny Tanner running around pinching everyone’s ass, making those god-awful jokes then expecting you to laugh at them. And those zombie twins with their satanic eyes. And don’t even start on Uncle Joey, who you know is just around the corner ready to unleash that ridiculous Bullwinkle voice. Then Kimmy Gibbler swings by with vodka on her breath, telling you to skip school and hitchhike to Berkeley, and it’s all over. “Give me a couple grams of the good stuff,” you say. But before you get all high and mighty (no pun intended), if you lived in the Tanner house, you’d be addicted to meth, too.
So it should come as no surprise that Stephanie Tanner, with her little head and slobbery speech impediment—the Cindy Brady of my generation—turned to the almighty pipe.
But don’t fear, she’s rehabbed, healthy, happy and looking very nice. And she’s back among the living and ready to tell her story. So let’s listen.