(As seen on Scary Mommy)
I hear Real Housewives of Dallas is scheduled to debut this year. Even though I’ve gotten away from watching the franchise in the recent years, I do believe I will watch a few episodes of my home town in case it stars anyone I know. As if. I watched an episode of that new one in Potomac the other day, and it only emphasized what I already believed…In what world can these women be described as real housewives?
Don’t take that as shade—the women are all beautiful and extremely entertaining as far as television standards. But who can relate? Not me. I am obviously NOT housewife material—even though I’ve been living as one for over a decade. I cannot imagine them sending a camera crew to my house. Imagine their disappointment when they discover:
I never go anywhere in a ball gown.
My few and far between lunch dates with other mothers never end in hair-pulling and drink-throwing.
I have never worn enough fake hair to clothe a small African village.
I seldom jet off at some point every few weeks to go on an international all-girls vacay.
Instead, the cameras would catch me in the following scenes:
Wearing Ohio U. sweats. All. Day.
Standing in front of the sink washing dishes for literal hours each day, saying no words to anyone.
Cooking dinner with two greasy handprints on my sweats because I’ve never owned an apron.
Me and my husband going on one date night per season to a restaurant within shouting distance of our house and then going shopping at Walmart, because running errands without kids is everything.
Hot gluing arms on Transformers, legs on ninja turtles, and heads on Skylanders for at least 12 minutes of every day.
Singing Coldplay in the car as loud as I can stand it on my way to work.
Screaming the words “Stop screaming!” so loudly that I bust an eye vessel at least once a week.
Making lunches. Again, in sweats.
Sitting at the computer for hours in silence trying to make an actual living.
Chauffeuring children to and from school. Again with loud Coldplay.
Wiping butts. So. Much. Wiping.
Glamorous, romantic nights full of changing pee sheets, making up bedtime stories, and watching Teen Titans, Go! with a toddler against the backdrop of my husband’s snores.
Baking cakes and cookies each day and saying it’s for the kids, but let’s be honest—it’s for me.
Starving myself each day until 5:00 PM and then eating cake and drinking wine while doing laundry until dawn.
So, there you have it, Bravo. Consider this my formal audition application. When you’re ready to put the Real back in Real Housewives, I’m ready for my close-up.
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