Prude kicked from Steve Harvey Show

I’m struggling with how I handled a situation recently. The producers from The Steve Harvey show have been mining Chicago Now bloggers for talent. They call us up and invite us to be part of segments, usually relating to blogs we’ve written. I was considered for an episode about families who take bad portraits. Seriously, my family makes terrible faces. This is how I posed for my Christmas card this year:

I’m giving face like it’s a fire sale on Livestrong bracelets.

I was eventually kicked from the episode though because they found a kid who screams at Santa. (A real needle in a haystack as anyone whose ever been to a mall in December can attest. Eye roll.) But after hearing my radio voice* on the phone, I gained a little reputation among the producers as a “personality” and my info got passed around as someone to fill in for fluff segments. I’m sort of the All Spice of Steve Harvey guests. So I got a call the other day about a new episode, one where they wanted me to ask a question about what’s “weird”. I was eventually assigned the question on a panel, “Is it weird it turns me on when my husband doesn’t take a shower and smells like a natural man?” Actually, they really wanted me to say “odor” but in the end, I didn’t want to say any of it. I declined. I didn’t want to degrade myself or embarrass my husband and in-laws. I already had to explain to my father-in-law why the Chicago Tribune linked to my post about our family doctor friend.

But now I’m wondering if I did the right thing with Steve Harvey? I write things that might potentially embarrass my in-laws all the time. Hello, I pranced in my mother-in-law’s lingerie on this blog and make fun of my husband’s tailored sweatpants. I guess I feel like those things are on my terms. I know the limits in my family and even though the lingerie thing was a little saucy, it wasn’t really sexual. Announcing on national television you get turned on by man funk crossed a line for me.

Was I right? A decent life lived on my own terms in relative obscurity trumps a dash of infamy as the Milf Who Likes Body Odor on TV right? You bet your yoga-panted ass. I can only be who I am. I’m not going to pretend to be into stinky guys just to get hits on my blog. I am not a Snookardashihan!

PS- I’m stirring broader thoughts on dignity, stay tuned!

*nasally, twangy, but technically on the radio from 1998-2002

Filed under: Dear diary, Field Trips

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