During the past week, I have been recovering from some surgery. Yes, I will be blogging about it in the next few weeks. I have just recently returned to a healthy sleep schedule which I plan to maintain. Healthy meaning in bed and asleep before midnight and awake and reading or writing by 7:30 am. There were periods of time when I was too zonked out on oycodone to read anything of difficulty. Even Elle magazine was mystifying as the letters ran together into incomprehensible gibberish. After having to take this drug for several days for pain control, the allure of the high eludes me. I am usually asleep within 30 minutes; incapable of much of anything except watching a bit of mindless television. Enter the Real Housewives. Bravo usually has some sort of marathon showing. Luckily one day when all I was capable of was lying on the couch in a stupor, the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills was being featured.
As I zoned in and out I was privy to several fights, difficult conversations, Dysport and Juvederm parties, spa days, lunches, dinner parties, an engagement party that involved a camel (I hope this wasn’t an oycodone induced hallucination), a $60,000 child’s birthday party, scenes from a couple unhappy marriages, shopping excursions and a separation due to domestic violence and massive amounts of debt.
What was missing from each episode was the following:
- Any display of love or affection that didn’t occur after the receipt of a major, and I mean major gift.
- a shot of anyone reading anything other than US Weekly
- a large number of books in any room
- A greeting that didn’t involve the European double cheek kiss, but usually they were air kisses that included sound effects and exclamations of “dahlink!”
- animals without clothing, even the camel was dressed up
- dresses that didn’t have breasts bubbling out of them.
- necklines without copious diamonds or perhaps cubic zirconia
- Conversations of any substance that didn’t involve talking about another Real Housewife or her husband or sister.
- a woman without perfectly styled hair and tons of eye makeup
- thin lips
- a lesbian couple
- Anyone working except you did catch a glimpse of the plastic surgeon, Dr. Paul (married to one of the real housewives) injecting a woman with Dysport.
- anyone with class, taste or intelligence
- a party or get together happening without the stereotypical bitch fight
- anyone having a friend of color
During several commercials about different brands of turkey and holiday travel I began to think about what Thanksgiving would be like for the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills as they gathered together at one of their McMansions.
As the help carves the turkey and after many air kisses and exclamations of “dahlink,” one of the beleaguered husbands suggests that everyone go around the table and offer up something for which they are grateful.
Lisa: I am grateful that my dog’s paws never touch the ground as my husband constantly carries him around.
Kyle: I am grateful that my husband is hot. But that he does not outshine me the hottest of all.
Kim: I am grateful that I finally landed a man so my bitch of a sister, Kyle will stop harping at me.
Camille: What, were we talking about something? I was thinking about myself.
Brandi: I am grateful that I had the courage to fire my maid when I caught her borrowing some of my eye shadow. I mean the nerve of her. It made me feel so empowered.
Taylor: I am grateful that my husband Russell hanged himself garnering me more media coverage this season and more air time on the show.
I know the last comment is mean and cynical, but Taylor was on every entertainment show possible talking about her husband’s tragic suicide. It was a media display at its worst.
The day ends with one of the housewives hitting the other over the head with a turkey leg. Taylor’s lips begin leaking Juvederm after she cuts herself on a piece of oyster shell in the stuffing. Luckily Dr. Paul is there to patch things up.
Wishing all my readers a very Happy Thanksgiving.