Blog from People.com.
It’s episode 2 for the D.C. ladies and my husband, our assistant and I have opened some champagne and sat down together. We open with the Salahis and clearly no Housewives franchise would be complete without a big shopping spree. The first scene was the only time Michaele hasn’t bothered me so far, and it lasted all of 45 seconds. She completely lost me when she named her horse (or was it My Little Pony?) Sparkle. Are we 7-years-old?
Moving right along, Mary’s oldest daughter moved back home and brought a 150 lb. dog. And she doesn’t clean up after it. WHAT??? Sorry, I know my boys are only 4 and 6, but that is not happening and never will happen in Brooklyn. Wait, I know, give the dog its own room that can only be opened by Mary’s biometric finger lock. Done.
The coffee shop meet-up between Mary and Cat made me laugh. Yes, I know Cat’s only got little ones. So do I for that matter – but does that mean none of us can talk? No way in hell would I stand for a 23-year-old daughter who sasses back at the table and doesn’t take care of the dog — and then give her an oversized tip. Plus, I couldn’t believe she actually said she’d take her housekeeper over her husband.
Michaele planned a birthday party for Paul, and I declare we’ve gone back in time because this planning scene looked exactly like last week’s scene when the eating disorder convo happened. Sloppy editing, much?
Did I say last week that Stacie was boring? I apologize: she woke up a little this week. I loved her decision to have everyone over to Aunt Frances’s for dinner. I loved the fried chicken, the peach cobbler and I wanted to taste the Scotch and sample every side dish. I also wanted to know why Cat had a problem with the wine? We saw her bring in a bottle of wine, and doesn’t everyone know that if you are worried about what you are going to get to drink at someone’s house, you say, “let’s open this bottle I brought. I want you to taste it?” So easy, Cat! I know her hair was standing on end when she heard that southern cooks reuse their grease, but guess what, it tastes better. She couldn’t take it and she ducked out early. Badly played … once again.
Next, we got to my favorite part of the episode, where the three stooges go into the basement and measure their penises. Or not. But I really loved all three of these guys -– from Rich’s blue pocket square and his offer to leave the room, to Jason’s earnestness and Ebong’s perfect ending line. (”Just ask Lynda“) As much as I have had to say about Lynda, the girl must be doing something right.
The day of Paul’s party arrived and where was Michaele? Sorry, I don’t care who you are but if you’ve agreed not only to host someone’s party but get ready together, you need to show up on time. (Maybe she was too busy petting her little pony.) And when she finally managed to arrive, it was in a white stretch limo. Even in New York, where we’re a little flashier than D.C., a white limo is just not okay.
At the party, Lynda decided she liked Cat’s husband because “he has access to the entire city, including the Oval Office.” Not because he was cute, or witty, or British. Just because of his access. Geez, maybe she’s not Ramona. Maybe she’s Jill!! Bwahaha. (No, she’s definitely Ramona because she made the comment later on about Virginia wines, and Jill would be too scared to do that.)
At the party, Tareq made the grand gesture of sabrage (opening champagne with a sword) and accidentally-on-purpose zipped the cork straight at Lynda.
When she’s not dodging champagne corks, Lynda does need to realize that she is being filmed, and we the viewers remember that last week she told her friend Paul to tell her frenemy Michaele that she has an eating disorder. Paul, being the adorable little Boy Scout he is, did as he was told. Michaele didn’t appreciate the comment and told Lynda so. That, my dear lady from south Georgia, is the time when you say, “I’m concerned about you.” It is not the time to lie about what you said. When you know you’re on record saying something, try to own it
So far, I’m going to continue watching. Are you? –Alex McCord
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