The Bought Women

You would never know it, but this woman got a lesser planet for her birthday. She saw it in a window display, and her husband noticed her admiring it, and the rest is astronomical history.
You would never know it, but this woman got a lesser planet for her birthday. She saw it in a window display, and her husband noticed her admiring it, and the rest is astronomical history.

I’ll start with a confession.

I watch The Real Housewives of Inanity on Bravo. I wouldn’t call it a guilty pleasure, because I don’t enjoy it the way I enjoy, say, the flushed hedonism of too much wine or a couple of hours on my couch listening to hip-hop so loud the bass shakes my windowpanes.

I like it like I like right-wing AM radio hosts. They piss me off, these pill-eating assholes with values slicing perpendicular to the grain of my own. (Housewives and Limbaugh copies alike.) What nettles me is the air of deservedness. The housewives believe, truly, that they have succeeded because they’re natural princesses and not because they boast wedding bands symbolizing wealth that could float, if not a country, surely a goodly sized military. At least prostitutes are honest.

I hate them. And I have a good time hating them.

TV writer Richard Lawson doesn’t despise the real/fake housewives as I do. But his recap of the New York reunion is one of the better pieces of writing I’ve seen in a while. This Lawson guy manages to glean the absurdity, the humor and even meaning. He’s hilarious. If you’ve never seen the reality show, you’ve still got to read this.