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I'll show you a "Real Housewife"!

Maybe it's the full moon, maybe it's hormones, maybe I'm feeling just a bit bitchy today...but you know what?  I am sick to death with the surge in popularity and constant pop-culture bombardment of these ridiculous "Real Housewives" shows.  Um, hello ladies?  Have you looked in the mirror lately?  You are not a friggin' housewife!  You are a wife...with a house (albeit a monstrous mansion)...that's pretty much it.  House + Wife does NOT = Housewife!  Half the time, you're somebody's ex-wife...so you should not even be allowed on the show to begin with.  And do not even go there on the "Real" descriptive in the show title.  Unless the word "Real" is a euphemism for real...ly good plastic surgery, I do not think "Real" is the term I'd use to describe these ladies. 
Correction:  Oh wait, further research yields a legal clause in the network's fine print telling me that the term "Real" may indeed be applied to a physically altered person insofar as a minimum of 50% of their internal organs and 40% of their earlobes remain untouched by a scalpel.  Well, I stand corrected then.

Right now you may be wondering what gives me the right to criticize and judge a bunch of women I have never before met, who are on TV, doing their darnedest to show the world what it is to be a humble housewife...  Well, to you I scream angrily, because I am a REAL, REAL HOUSEWIFE!! 

Now that that has been established, why then is nobody lining up at my door with a digital camcorder and a sound crew?  Because the truth is, we'd much rather watch a woman pumped so full of Botox that rats drop dead at her scent, then watch me narrowly pinching away at a blackhead on my chin using a teaspoon as a mirror.  We prefer watching women sip Champagne whilst trying on sexy pumps in a Manolo Blahnik boutique than watch me wrestle my gnarled toes into an ill fitting pair of flats on a clearance rack at Winners!  The Real Housewives of Vancouver lay out architectural plans for their ocean-front playgrounds.  The real housewives I know lay out plans to finally scrape up the week-old cat puke from the front hall rug.  Does anyone truly want to see real life?  No!  Not even the housewives on my street want to watch a show about actual housewives.  We live it- we don't need to watch it unfold in our spare time. 

DAYDREAMING INTERLUDE:
Brad:  Kas, what are you watching?
Me: Oh, just an awesomely interesting show about housewives like myself!  Quiet!  Sue is about to do another load of laundry...no...lookout...a white blouse got tossed in with the darks...ohhhhh...this is going to be a nail biter....
"What is she doing?  Is that cat puke?  Ewww...she is so not a real housewife!"
Ok, now that I am thoroughly depressed, I'd better get off this Blog.  Fictitious Sue from my daydream just reminded me that I have the duties of housewifery that await...  Laundry, then mopping, then meal prep, then cat puke removal...then LBBDU (Little Boy Bathroom De-Urinization) to the uninitiated.   Maybe I should video it and post it as a "REAL, REAL HOUSEWIVES" show.  Would you watch?  I'll take your silence as a NO!

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