Great idea, George!
Okay, I’ll admit it. I am a reality show junkie.
This predilection started in the 90s with The Real World. Then, over the years, I watched The Osbournes, Growing Up Gotti, Trading Spaces, The Hills, and more. I’ve also probably seen at least one episode of just about every show The Food Network airs. More recently, my DVR has been filled with Keeping Up with the Kardashians, Jersey Shore, and Teen Mom. Lately, I’m hooked on Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, Long Island Medium, Pawn Stars, and Breaking Amish.
So it should come as no surprise that I watch the Real Housewives, too.
But, I really, really, really wish the Real Housewives series were titled differently. I mean, let’s face it: most of those women are not housewives.
I am a housewife. I hold a graduate degree, and I had a career, but I gave it up to be a stay-at-home mom. Though, I prefer to call myself a work-at-home mom. As much as I enjoy television, I don’t sit around watching it all day long. Actually, despite my little obsession, I watch very little TV. But I digress…
I am a housewife. The real deal. I do laundry. I scrub toilets. I make dinner, and after we eat, I do the dishes. I clip coupons and shop for groceries. I trade recipes. I pick up toys. I pick up dog poop. I volunteer at my kids’ school. I help with homework. I host play dates. I shuttle kids to sports, after-school activities, and doctor appointments. I carpool. I wear sweat pants. I drive a minivan.
I am a homemaker.
Those women on the Real Housewives franchise? Half of them hold full-time jobs, and they’re never at home! And, those who don’t work? They spend their days shopping, planning elaborate parties, pampering themselves at the salon, visiting their plastic surgeons, attending charity events, and meeting friends for lunch and mid-day drinks.
A mid-day drink for me is a crisp swig of Diet Coke. I live large when occasionally, while on a Target run, I treat myself to a decaf latte at Starbucks. And Target? That’s the extent of my shopping most days.
I personify the “real housewife.” My life, however, is not nearly snazzy enough for television. TV producers would call it boring. I think it’s a wonderful life, but I know that if my story were televised, it would neither top the Nielsen rating charts nor be picked up for a second season.
That’s because this mama lacks drama. Well, maybe there’s some, but it usually involves boys tossing their basketball over the neighbor’s fence or a certain ten-year-old girl who can’t find a single thing to wear.
Besides that, there’s no nanny, no house keeper, no chef, no limos, no plastic surgeon, no personal trainer, no personal shopper, and no personal assistant.
But there is a DVR, and on that DVR are the Real Housewives, all of them, in all their glory, and I enjoy watching every minute of their real or not-so-real housewifey days.
Still, I think they should be called The Real Divas of Orange County...or New Jersey...or Beverly Hills...because they are not real housewives like me.