CRAZY WHITE WOMEN

The Real Housewives of New York City. And by real is meant totally fake. Through mischance I have been exposed to the show -- meaning that my apartment mate likes to watch trashy teevee before she goes to sleep in her room -- and, having no television preferences myself in this age that does not know Arrested Development, Absolutely Fabulous, The X Files, or I Am Weasel, I patiently come along for the ride.
Usually I read up on the American Civil War.
While absorbing the vulgarian behaviour.
One of them looks like a platypus.
They're all horrible people.

I suppose I should not take them as typical examples of blondes, in the same way that The Real Housewives of Atlanta give fat black women an undeserved bad name. Most people don't act like that.

Nor are they typical of New York.

Other than whining.


Now here's the frightening thing: they're more or less my age. My more misguided friends would advise me to court women like that. I cannot think of anything more repulsive than those slaggy rich bitches.

I have no clue why my apartment mate enjoys these shows; possibly it's because she likes seeing other women doing stupid things. It's a point of comparison, perhaps. And I note that all of them have bigger arses and hands. That too probably makes her feel good.
For her, it's cheaper than therapy.
I find it traumatizing.


If I spend too much time in the teevee room on my computer while she plonks away on hers during The Real Housewives from Hell, it almost always gives me a tight feeling in my head.
Post-traumatic stress disorder.
An internalized scowl.


Bring back Futurama.
And The Tick.



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