Hello. My name is Lindsey Swanson, and I am a housewives addict.
No, I don’t watch “Jersey Shore,” and I’ve never seen an episode of “Lost.” But somehow, while acknowledging that it is complete dribble, I still find Bravo’s “Real Housewives” oddly fascinating.
From Orange County, Calif., to Atlanta, Ga., New Jersey and New York City, every one of Bravo’s housewives shows present viewers with a compelling combination of grandiose domestication and socialite cattiness, and enough schadenfreude to last all week long.
Notwithstanding, each “Real Housewives” series has its own vernacular flavor and varied palette of personalities. The original housewives from Orange County define SoCal with their spray tans and implants; the ladies of “Hotlanta” present a uniquely southern class of drama with their feral cattiness and wig pulling; the housewives from the Shore can be characterized as nothing less than crazy; and the real housewives of New York City epitomize a truly American archetype — bitches.
Last Thursday, the third season of “The Real Housewives of New York City” premiered. With apples in hand, the “refreshed” faces of Bethenny, Jill, LuAnn, Alex, Ramona and Kelly made their anticipated return to the boob tube. But among the usual dramatic plots of their reality, episode one, “New Alliances,” focused on issues of etiquette and class for these Home Shopping Network heroines. Oh, holy cat fight. LuAnn and Jill bombarded Ramona with Mario’s “Count-less” comment; LuAnn challenged Bethenny about making comments behind her back; and of course, the newest feud between Bethenny and Jill was introduced and discussed incessantly.
Pathetically, this drama is why I love the housewives. For me, being able to see how the other half lives isn’t nearly as great as being able to see how the other half fights. Albeit, in “real” life, cattiness is an unfortunate quality, it remains entertaining from a distance.
Like the housewives and most females, I have experienced my share of girl fights. Regrets aside, they have more importantly taught me how unflattering cattiness, and especially pettiness, can make someone. Unlike the housewives I worship, who duke it out over any and everything, I carefully choose my battles, and in most cases, keep my claws to myself.
As we say in the newsroom, “you can’t win ‘em all,” but just as important, when it comes to friends, don’t be a housewife; you can’t fight ‘em all.
