I hate to say it; but I’m not much of a television watcher (or even a Wheel Watcher) anymore. Maybe it’s because I no longer share the same tastes in shows as my TV-monopolizing husband and children. (“Dad, hurry up! 1000 Ways to Die is On.“) Or that I’ve grown up and taken on loftier things (“Mommy, are you farming on Facebook again?”). Or simply that my passion for reading has grown since I’ve become a published author and prayed that anyone would read my book). Whatever the reason, there are very few shows that I will watch, with one exception.
I’m addicted to the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (Bravo TV, Thursday nights).
I’m particularly enthralled by Camille Grammar, soon-to-be-ex wife of actor Kelsey Grammar. It’s not like Camille and I have anything in common. For example, she has a tennis court and a handsome instructor; while I have my living room and my WII. She plans a party by calling her caterer and chef; I plan mine by calling across the street to my neighbor. (“Hey Juli, don’t forget the Miller Lite and Cheetos.”).We do share a common bond of being stressed out mothers. She (and her three nannies) know how hard it is to take care of children. And like me, she gets stuck planning and packing for vacations (though she just has to pick up the phone and call her house manager in Hawaii to tell him to turn on the hot tub and stock the fridge while I have to call Motel 6 and make sure they have hot water.)
Maybe I’m obsessed with Camille and the others because they pretty much have everything they could want — beautiful houses,gorgeous wardrobes, fancy cars, French maids, personal assistants, and pets who live even better than we do (I think Lisa’s dog, Jiggy, is on the Forbes’ richest pet list, just behind Leona Helmsley’s). Yet, as I watch the show I can’t help but feel sadness for them. Sadness that they are so caught up in perfection. They can’t even walk across the street without having a hairstylist flown in. (“Can I borrow a cup of Botox? I’ll be over in 8 hours to pick it up.”) This is in great contrast to me — who visits neighbors in my pajamas. (“Gene, I’m really glad that you feel comfortable enough to come over in your hair rollers.”) I have to say that I’d take my crazy imperfect life (with my messy house, imperfect husband, special children, and poorly trained dogs) over theirs any day. I’ve had the most amazing people choose to be my friends just because of my imperfections. I have children who have given me the gift of acceptance, compassion, and patience (on most days). I have a husband who has stuck by me in the best and worst of times and who appreciates the little things in life. “You look beautiful today, Gene. Did you comb your hair just for me?” And a sister who wasn’t a child TV star (save for her work on in-store security cameras) and who isn’t jealous of me. “Gene, I love that you’re as dumb as I am now.”
To me, this is living real — and it’s a hell of a lot more interesting. I never know what each day will bring me (though I do know it won’t be a make-up artist or hairstylist).
What do you think of the Real Housewives?