As I hear buzz about the upcoming premiere of The Real Housewives of Dallas, I can’t help but reminisce about my past enthusiasm for the franchise. While I’ve stepped back from watching these shows in recent years, I might tune in to catch a glimpse of familiar faces from my hometown—though that’s probably wishful thinking. I recently caught an episode of the Potomac series, and it solidified my thoughts: how can these women truly be called “real housewives”?
This isn’t meant to be a dig at them; they’re all stunning and undeniably entertaining by television standards. However, I can’t relate to their glamorous lifestyles. Despite having lived the housewife life for over a decade, I know I’m not cut from the same cloth as the women depicted on screen. I can’t imagine a camera crew showing up at my door.
Picture the letdown as they discover that:
- I don’t wear ball gowns to run errands.
- My occasional lunch outings with fellow moms rarely result in drama or brawls.
- I’ve never owned enough hair extensions to share with a small village.
- International girls’ trips are a distant dream, not a regular occurrence.
Instead, the cameras would capture far more relatable moments:
- Me lounging in my worn Ohio U. sweats all day.
- Staring at a sink full of dishes, lost in thought for hours.
- Preparing dinner with greasy fingerprints on my sweats since I don’t own an apron.
- My husband and I having a seasonal date night at a nearby restaurant, followed by a trip to Walmart—because running errands sans kids is pure bliss.
- Hot gluing limbs onto various action figures for at least 12 minutes a day.
- Singing along to Coldplay in the car at the top of my lungs.
- Yelling “Stop screaming!” loudly enough to almost pop a blood vessel each week.
- Making lunches while still in sweats.
- Spending hours in front of my computer in silence, trying to build a career.
- Driving kids to and from school, again with Coldplay blaring.
- An endless cycle of butt-wiping—so much wiping.
- Romantic evenings spent changing pee sheets, crafting bedtime stories, and watching Teen Titans Go! with a toddler, all while my husband snores in the background.
- Baking cakes and cookies daily and claiming they’re for the kids, but let’s be real—it’s for me.
- Starving until 5 p.m., only to indulge in cake and wine while tackling laundry until dawn.
So, Bravo, consider this my official audition. When you’re ready to showcase the realness of real housewives, I’m prepared for my moment in the spotlight.
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In summary, if I were cast in a reality show, it would be a refreshing departure from the glitz and glamour, showcasing the everyday life of a “real” housewife.