The Unreal World of Reality TV

When I happened upon a reality show about the real housewives of Miami, I realized how unreal their life is.

At the gym this morning, I stepped on a treadmill that happened to be in front of a TV that was airing an episode of the “The Real Housewives” of Miami.  I think this was the city it was based in, but I am not sure. The scenery was spectacular, the women – not so much.  For the most part, they seemed shallower than a blow-up kiddie pool. 

As housewives, they didn’t seem to do much except shop, whine and attend to their personal appearance. To me, you can’t call yourself a housewife unless you are familiar with using a broom or a toilet brush, and these women didn’t seem to be the type to hold either of these tools in their hands.

Okay, I guess sound jealous. And to be honest, I am. While I was sweating on the treadmill, talking with the equally sweaty woman on the treadmill next to me, one of these blonde babes on the show was getting engaged. The guy, who was proposing, presented her with a  gazillion-carat diamond ring.  I had never seen a bauble this big. It traveled past her knuckle and up to her finger nail, and the woman couldn’t help but show it off.  This ring looked so heavy that I was amazed  she could lift her hand off the table.

After the engagement scene, there was a promo showing one of the housewives in an amorous romp in a hot tub with a man.  We only got to see the beginning of the romp before it faded to commercial, and I got ticked off not because we didn’t see the full scene but because this show claims to be a glimpse into reality. Sex in the hot tub is not real life.  It  cannot be as easy as the producers of this show made it look. Hot tub seats are slippery, water sloshes around, and one wrong move, someone is drowning or caught in the jets. And let’s not forget the health hazards. It takes a lot of diligence to keep the chemical balance in a spa. I would think sex might tip those scales. Yes, hazards abound.

For the record, these are not just assumptions on my part. I know about these hazards because when they delivered my hot tub, the technician made a point of showing me the page in the instruction booklet that said, “Sexual activity in the spa is not recommended as it may result in injury or death.” 

To this day, I am not sure why he felt compelled to point this page out to me. But I thought it best not to ask.  Anyway, he went on to explain that being in a 100-degree water can raise one’s blood pressure and if you stir sex into the pot, the hot tub is an instrument for mortal danger.  I would have loved to have been in the room when the spa company’s lawyers came up with this clause to reduce their liability.

As I was winding down my workout, the commercial ended and the “Real Housewife” ladies returned, and it was time to focus on another star of the show who was shopping at one of those specialty boutiques that stock about three outfits in the store. But that is deceiving. I learned that the real merchandise, which is saved for the rich and famous, is hidden in the back rooms. When the store employees see someone like a “Real Housewife” walk into the store, they run to the stock room and pull together a $4,000 outfit just for her. 

It’s funny how my concept of shopping is so very different from the “Real Housewife.” Usually, I think I’ve had a good shopping experience if I don’t have to share a dressing room in T.J. Maxx.

Okay, I might be exaggerating a bit, but not by much.  I never had to share a dressing room with another customer. Although I‘ve heard rumors that I do share the dressing room with someone with a camera who is watching from a remote location to make sure I don’t stuff the merchandise in my purse.

Well, on Friday I will go to the gym again. I think I might head to the elliptical section which is nowhere near the TVs.  I think another morning with the “Real Housewives” might prove to be my undoing.

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