“Loyalty to petrified opinion never yet broke a chain or freed a human soul.” Mark Twain
“What are you watching?” Mr Dear Husband plonks himself down beside me. We sit quietly, together for a few minutes, until he starts to fidget and making that weird ‘clearing the throat’ sound.
“Seriously! What ARE you watching? His face is screwed up in concentration. He is leaning forward, toward the television, his mouth slightly agape.
“The Real Housewives of Orange County.” Don’t ask, sometimes a girl just needs a little Bling-Bling.
He turns and looks at me, puzzled. “Please tell me what is REAL about THOSE women!”
He has a point. I find myself mesmerized by their faces. Their faces and their breasts. Neither of those body parts appear to move. Ever. And they are all over forty.
Mr Dear Husband leans back, crosses one leg over the other at a 45 degree angle. He is still squinting. It is possible he might need new specs, but probably more accurate to assume he is confused.
“Why don’t their faces move, and why do they all look the same?” He has a point.
I couldn’t help myself. A lazy weekend afternoon, something mindless. I got hooked and continued to watch these women parade their lives for the world to see. After three episodes, I started to like them. Not what I was expecting.
Imagine what it would be like to put in that much time and effort, to have shiny white teeth and Pamela Anderson Hair. And those boobs! Wow. It had taken me at least two episodes to work out why all those gals could strut around in tiny, spaghetti strap tops, with no visible sign of the usual mechanics it takes to hold ‘the girls’ in place.
Strangely, it was some of the most honest television I have seen for ages. They are pretty straight up about WHO they are, and where they want to be. There is no pretence. It was refreshing. And they love a glass of wine… what’s not to like!
Sort of hoping that Mr Dear Husband doesn’t EVER get transferred to Orange County. They would take one look at my “No Shaving Legs in Winter” policy…or “Has it been 12 weeks since my last hair cut…whoops” and I would be run out of town.
Mr Dear Husband sat with me for another few minutes… then Miss Eight happened to drift past…
“Oh pretty! Barbie Dolls!”
Yep, baby, REAL LIVE Barbie Dolls.
