Thanks, Kathy! I’ve been getting back in the habit of checking Mama Kat’s Writers’ Workshop every week for prompts. It’s great if you’re having a bit of blogger’s block, and I love reading what other people create using the same prompt I chose. This week I’m explaining why I can’t be one of the Real Housewives. I’ve tried all the others and couldn’t tolerate them for long, but I’ve seen every single episode of the original Bravo series: The Real Housewives of Orange County.
False eyelashes – they’re not just for drag queens anymore! But they’re not for me, either. I wear glasses all the time, so doing anything other than some individual lashes at the corners wouldn’t work. And my tremor is better some days than others, but even on my best day I’d end up looking like there was some sort of insect on my eyelid. Attention-getting, but not in a good way. These women wear full make-up and hair 24/7 (at least while they’re filming). Although I will put on some blush, lipstick, and mascara if I’m trying to make a good impression I just don’t do the full-face makeup thing. I use Nerium, so my skin looks good enough to just wash my face and go. And I like that!
Then there’s my hair. Most of the conversations these women have with their husbands or boyfriends seem to occur while they’re doing something to their hair. Straightening it, curling it, putting it in hot rollers, teasing it – whatever. My hands go numb when I put them above my head (another little leftover from my multiple neurosurgeries) so my hair’s usually up in a clip. If I want to look especially nice I put it up in a sock bun when it’s mostly dry and then take it down the next day and pull it back with – wait for it – a banana clip! Remember those from the 80’s? Yep, I have them and I wear them in public. I searched YouTube the other day for some “easy updos for fine hair”. My definition of easy is worlds away from what these vloggers think is easy. Lots of products, lots of teasing, four double-jointed arms, and one pound of bobby pins for the easiest. Maybe my banana clip will start a new trend.
My husband and my son both love me and are super-sweet to me. They take care of everything I can’t (which is pretty much everything!) Laundry, cleaning, cooking, dishes, shopping, yardwork. And there are no fights, no teen rebellion. John’s so funny he could probably have his own reality show, though. I never know what he’s going to say or do next! And my dogs are not your standard reality show purse dogs. Sam is one hundred pounds of beautiful chocolate lab, and would be sure to steal every scene. She does think the world revolves around her, so she might fit in pretty well. Boss, on the other hand, might bite a cameraman. Not in a bad-dog way, just in a scared, protecting-his-family way.
There would be no browsing the boutiques buying baubles at the jewelry store. The cameras could follow me to my favorite Goodwill locations, and maybe as a special treat I’d drop by my fave consignment shop. That’s a rarity, though.
If they really wanted reality I’d be in jammies 90% of the time. Old, raggedy jammies. Christmas jammies in the summer. Jammies with safety pins replacing missing buttons. ‘Cause that’s how I roll at home. And fuzzy pocks. Probably ones with holes in them because John borrowed them.
Oh, and the house. I do have a lovely granite countertop in my kitchen, and beautiful custom-made cabinets. But the countertop is covered in dirty dishes and the cabinets have fingerprints all over them. The rest of the house is a mess, and there is no way they could film in my bedroom (where I spend large portions of my day lying on my bed with an ice-pack on my back or neck) because all the floor space is taken up by a dog bed and boxes of clothes that don’t fit. No room for cameras. Oh, and that huge white orchid that was in the background at everyone’s house last season – did you think we wouldn’t notice it was the same plant? I have a perfectly nice pink one of my own. It’s not big enough to hide the dirty dishes, but perhaps it can be a distraction.
Every single household has the same wine bottle opener, too. I don’t need one of those. My wine comes in a box. And “champs”, as Heather calls it – well, there has not been a lot to celebrate around here lately, but feel free to drop off a case! And some truffles, too.
I know Vicky gets all touchy if anyone else dares say they have a career, because she has to be acknowledged as the hardest-working Housewife or else things get a bit cray-cray. So I’m sure she’d be fine with my being disabled after working twenty years as a nurse, and would not begrudge Michael and me our little side business with Nerium. Unless we won a car or a trip or something. Then she might decide she hates me for that season.
Come to think of it, Vicky may also be upset that we have the same cookie jar. I’ve noticed it several times in her kitchen, and it cracks me up! Of course I bought mine on the clearance rack because it was broken, but I had a wild toddler at the time so buying things pre-broken only made sense
I think the deal-breaker that would keep me off a Real Housewives show, though, is that I have hit my lifetime maximum of bullshit and drama much earlier than most people. You’re either my friend or you’re not. I don’t worry about what other people think about me unless it’s someone whose opinion I hold in high regard and who knows me well. And although my life is pretty nearly an open book things that would embarrass or humiliate my husband or my son are not “common knowledge” as a family member recently suggested when I asked him to stop gossiping about us.
So I don’t suppose you’ll be seeing me starring in a new Bravo series anytime soon, which is a shame because I’d love to show up in jammies to chat with Andy Cohen post-show