Of Champagne and Train Wrecks

This past Sunday morning was rather uneventful as usual. Normally I get up and make myself my first of three cups of coffee, and sit down to read news from around the world. But I was feeling a bit overwhelmed with the State of Fearβ„’ constantly bombarding my social and blog sites, so I decided to watch TV. I was hoping for some fun show where they completely demolish your kitchen/ bathroom/ house and rebuild it with some neat upgrades like a complete sound system in the shower or a wine dispenser in the kitchen.

Yes, they do make those.

Anyway, I was scrolling along and the next thing I see is a pair of Louboutin shoes on display on some show. I had to stop and look. Look, they were Louboutins, ok?? So I start watching two women discussing the pros and cons of buying that particular pair of studded Louboutins for a catering event and how one of the gals just HAD to get them in order to make a statement at said catering event. Then it turns out it was a commercial for some reality TV show, but before I could change it, ANOTHER reality TV show came on, and it was about a pack of wild hyenas group of well-to-do ladies (and I use that term loosely) from Melbourne, Australia called Real Housewives of Melbourne. Let me tell you, the only truth in that title is the name of the city. And so began my descent into the maelstrom of fake reality TV.

I picked up the storyline from the time Gal 1 decided to take all of them to an exclusive resort, where some of the others decided it was the opportune time to accuse her of talking behind their backs and Gal 1 AKA Barrister had enough and left them there, and Gal 2 AKA Switzerland called her to make sure she was ok, but the others ignored her, and then Gal 3 Mystic was scrambling to launch a cocktail line, but wanted a date with her hubby, so she and Gal 4 AKA Pilot went shopping at Agent Provocateur and spent $4,500 on a piece of lingerie, which her rocker hubby adored to the tune of $6,000 diamond earrings, while Gal 5 AKA Instigator is trying to fan the flames while trying to put them out between Barrister and Gal 6 AKA Plastic Barbie. So Barrister is being actively ostracized by all but Switzerland, and Mystic, who is keeping everyone at arms’ length because she comes from Newcastle and her mom is Russian and she has seen serious crap go down. And Plastic barbie is writing a book about how women can have it all (because that has never, ever been done) and is joining forces with Pilot who is also writing a book, but no one knows about what because she is too busy talking about her fantastic life and her fantastic dog. Then you have Switzerland trying to patch things up between Plastic Barbie and Barrister in a limo on the way to a special private opening of a new store from America called “West Elm”.

And this is where I lost it, yelling at the TV, “HA! I shop there you rich bimbos. You ain’t better than me!!”

And Hubby gave me a smile and a little pitying look right then.

Anyway, Switzerland is trying to make the peace by opening champagne and telling all of them this is some girl time to talk things out, because as normal people know, shopping is when women talk to each other. But then Plastic barbie gets it in her head to talk about Barrister RIGHT THERE and there is nothing Switzerland can do to mend the rifts, and Instigator full well owns up to having had a hand in it, and is cheered on by Pilot for being such a stand-up person, when in the real world a normal woman would have scratched her eyes out for being so duplicitous. So on to Mystic and her alcohol and she is by far the most normal of the Rich Pack. She doesn’t own a dog, but if she did, she wouldn’t subject it to dressing it up in costumes or taking it to a pooch party, which totally happened. Anyway she and rocker hubby are launching a new line of cocktails and she decides she doesn’t need the drama, so she steers as clear as one can while being followed around with cameras. Meanwhile Instigator and Switzerland confront Barrister to make her go apologize to Plastic Barbie, and that she needs to own up to what she had called Barbie and Pilot. So Barrister meets with Barbie and the amount of FAIL could only be measured on a Richter scale. Because as normal people know, women with chips on shoulders will never apologize when cameras are rolling. And so on to the end of this champagne-fueled train wreck, where the cocktail line is launching, and all the gals are in attendance for Mystic, while Barrister is actively ignored by Pilot and Barbie. The launch is a success, and at the end all six go sit to talk things out, and with drinks flowing and tongues wagging, it’s a miracle it was intelligible enough for closed-captioning. And still Barrister didn’t apologize, Pilot is still musing about a book, Barbie is still mad, Instigator is held at arms’ length, Switzerland has given up, and Mystic is as adjusted as a psychic married to a rock star and launching a cocktail line can be.

So I wasted my Sunday morning watching a bunch of pretentious women have cat fights on TV. Y’all didn’t think I was serious when I say I live a boring life, did you? Well, now you have proof πŸ˜€

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About LC Aggie Sith

Machete-wielding zombie killer when not a stay-at-home mom. View all posts by LC Aggie Sith

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