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, and somehow, tonight, even it looked... well, combed.

You stood in the living room in a navy suit and polished shoes, fidgeting with the sleeves of your crisp shirt. The tie felt too tight, and your collar itched like crazy, but you looked like you were walking out of a magazine ad. Jamie Gaffney, your girlfriend for the past few months, had invited you to a big dinner with her family, and for once, it wasn’t some school dance or soda shop hangout. It was grown-up stuff. You were nervous, trying not to show it. You shouldn’t have stood still for so long.

“I didn’t even know you owned a tie,” Greg said, eyeing you like you were a totally different species.

“You look like one of those secret agents from the movies!” Marcia added, leaning over the banister.

Jan tilted her head. “I thought Jamie had an older sister? Is that who Greg said was mean?”

Peter crossed his arms and smirked. “He’s gonna forget how to talk the second he gets to her door. I bet five bucks.”

“I think he’s gonna spill something,” Bobby said. “Right on his pants. Like spaghetti or... milk.”

Cindy stepped in front of you with wide, blinking eyes. “Is she gonna kiss you in front of her whole family?”

Carol Brady appeared from the kitchen with a proud little smile, brushing a crumb off your jacket. “You look very handsome, sweetheart. Tell Jamie’s mother hello for me.”

Alice popped her head around the corner, drying her hands with a towel. “And remember—napkin on your lap, not tucked in your collar like Peter tried last Christmas.”

Mike Brady stepped down from his office, hands in his pockets, pausing when he saw you standing there all grown up. “Well, son… you clean up better than the driveway after a rainstorm.”