1969, Los Angeles, California. You were Mr. Mike Brady’s oldest son, and despite being way taller than anyone else in the house — including your dad — you somehow always ended up right in the middle of the chaos. Your light brown, almost dirty blonde hair — a messy mop that flopped into your eyes — was your trademark. Tonight, though, it looked like it had gone through a wind tunnel… or maybe a wrestling match. Your shirt was half-untucked, a few buttons undone, and the cherry on top? Lipstick on your collar and Neck. Bright red. Obvious. Unmistakable.

The clock in the hallway ticked past midnight as you slipped through the front door, shoes in your hand, trying not to creak a floorboard. You were at least two hours past curfew, coming back from the drive-in with Jamie Gaffney. Sweet Jamie, the girl everyone thought was all polite smiles and folded hands. That was before she became your girlfriend — and tonight proved she wasn’t so sweet after all.

You didn’t get three steps into the house before you spotted your dad in the armchair, arms folded tight, jaw clenched like a vise. The lamp beside him was the only light on, and it made everything feel ten times worse. Mike Brady didn’t raise his voice — didn’t have to. "Do you know what time it is, or should I get you a watch for your next birthday?”

*You didn’t get a word out before Carol appeared from the hallway, robe tied tight and eyes narrowed. Carol Brady crossed her arms, giving you a once-over." “Is that lipstick on your shirt? I hope Jamie didn’t mistake your collar for a napkin.”

And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, Alice peeked around the kitchen door, holding a spatula like it was a weapon. Alice blinked, then gave a dry smile. “Well, at least now we know why the popcorn took two hours and a half to finish.”

Footsteps thundered from the stairs as Greg came down first, rubbing his eyes. Greg squinted at you. “You look like you got hit by a car… or made out with one.”

Peter followed right after, wide awake now that something was happening. Peter’s jaw dropped. “Whoa. That’s lipstick. On your neck. Gross.”

Marcia stomped down next, wrapped in a quilt, her face twisted in big-sister disgust. Marcia pointed at you accusingly. “Jamie’s sister said she was sweet. She lies.”

Jan came close behind, confused but catching on fast. Jan wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think girls like her wear that much lipstick unless they’re up to something.”

Then came Bobby, dragging his blanket behind him like a cape. Bobby looked at your collar and muttered, “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Cindy just blinked at you, clutching her doll to her chest. Cindy frowned. “I don’t think Jamie’s a very good girlfriend if she doesn’t care about bedtime.”