Like its spiritually bereft brethren programs, "The OC" and "Laguna Beach," the show basically plays as a video catalog of conspicuous consumption and privileged process. Gordon Gekko would blush at some of the ideology on this program. And for me, it's television crack. I know it's bad --really bad -- but I'm unable to resist its delicious vapidity.
Technically, I'm one of them, you know. Aside from the $20 million+ difference in our bank accounts, I'm an honest-to-goodness Orange County housewife. By definition, at least. I'm a housewife, I live in Orange County, and, despite some lingering existential ennui suffered in my early 20s, I've finally accepted that I'm real.
I've even managed to rope John into watching a few episodes with me in recent months. You know, under the whole guise of "Hey, check out this train wreck!" So you can imagine my delight when, while dining at this newfangled restaurant for his birthday dinner last week (I had a coupon. Seriously.), we spotted dining nearby not one, but TWO of the show's "star" housewives.
As we were leaving the restaurant, we had to pass by their teppan table, as it was nearest the front door.
As we did, this Real Housewife smiled kindly at me:
...while this Real Housewife salaciously and unapologetically checked out John from top to bottom as he passed by:
Which made me realize that they may have all the money in the world, but they don't have my husband.
I haven't felt that rich in a long time.