Why I’ll Never Star on the Real Housewives
I am a huge Real Housewives fan. It’s my guilty pleasure. Yes, I know it’s completely contrived and I should be ashamed. I am. Who am I kidding? No I’m not. Beverly Hills, New York, New Jersey, Atlanta, Orange County, and Miami (but only if I’m really desperate)… I love them all.
However, despite my appreciation for the ladies’ mastery of girl fights, Botox, dinner parties, and faux lashes I have come to the realization that I’ll never be on the show. Sigh.
Here are the reasons why:
I love yoga pants.
I’ve never flipped a table.
I haven’t declared bankruptcy or had the bank foreclose on my home.
My home does not have ten bedrooms, a giant winding staircase, or a fountain in the living room. Or geese. Apparently that’s a thing.
I do not own 100 teeny tiny bikinis. In fact I do not even own one. Sorry, husband. I prefer a little coverage when I brave the water.
The bikinis I do own are not adorned in sequins or rhinestones. Is it just me or does that seem a bit impractical?
I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing heels on the beach or at the pool. Or anywhere unless forced.
I do not have a driver. Instead I drive an Altima. Fancy, I know.
Gossiping about my family and friends doesn’t seem like a good time to me.
I choose to surround myself with women who don’t view life as a competition and instead genuinely celebrate the success and happiness of their friends.
I don’t display cleavage on a regular basis. Again, sorry, husband.
I like to eat.
I am not a former model, actress, or beauty pageant queen. Nor am I a future model, actress, or QVC fashion designer.
I love yoga pants. But mostly not for yoga. Just for life.
I don’t drink enough alcohol.
I don’t curse enough.
I don’t have or want a nanny.
I do not wear hair extensions, fake lashes, or fake nails.
Nobody comes to my house in the morning to do my hair or makeup. But I wouldn’t turn down the offer if someone wanted to.
I don’t throw enough cocktail parties. Mostly I do play dates.
When I do have people over, I don’t have a caterer or assigned seating. In fact I don’t have enough chairs for the people we’ve invited over, and, yes I’d love it if you brought some hummus.
I love yoga pants. Still.
I’ve never had plastic surgery and I’m not married to a plastic surgeon.
I do not have a closet completely devoted to shoes. Or even completely devoted to my own clothes. I have to share my closet with my husband. Like a peasant.
None of my shoes cost over $50 and most of them came from Target.
I don’t think I’ve had a massage since I was pregnant with my son. That’s over three years ago. Geesh.
When I visit the grocery store (which I do since I shop for myself) I am usually wearing yoga pants and sneakers. There’s nary a skinny jean or stiletto in sight.
Have I mentioned that I love my yoga pants?
And finally, the last time I pulled someone’s hair I was probably 9 and the victim was my sister. She had it coming.
But should anyone ask… yes, I’d obviously love to be on the Real Housewives. They’re doing an Arkansas franchise, right?