After the utter and complete meltdown I had over this show and the wretched ball of nastiness that is Camille Grammer two weeks ago, I have to thank Bravo for giving me a week off and then throwing me a softball with last night’s mostly charming episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Surely my positive reaction has something to do with the amount of time we saw Camille; my hatred of humanity correlates with the amount of time I have to spend listening to her mispronounce the word “pernicious.”
Instead, last night was mostly about setting up Kim on a date and her ridiculous leopard dress and a swanky party, with some puppies thrown in for good measure. Lest we forget that humans are mostly vile, though, Taylor’s husband was around to make sure that we were unable to forget.
We started with a makeover for Kim, as if Kim’s self-confidence needed to be hit again by the insinuation that she needs to look different. Her makeover really only constituted some sort of Hannibal Lecter-mask electroshock facial, which sort of reminded me of this weird shock boot the physical therapist used to put on my ankle after I dislocated it. Which was totally voodoo, by the way, my ankle still hurts when it rains. Did Kim dislocate her face? I hope not, sounds ouchy. Kyle also took the opportunity to get strapped into the Lecter mask and they both emerged looking exactly the same as they did before they spent all that money.
Over at Lisa’s house, the old guy who Kim would later meet visited with Lisa and Ken. He’s an old British friend of theirs who apparently wasn’t aware that Lisa wanted to set him up again, and she warned him that the woman who he would meet would be short, blonde, feisty and generally not his type in any recognizable way. I don’t know if I’d call Kim “feisty” so much as “defensive,” but I guess that’s similar to telling a friend that a guy has “a great personality” when he’s not all that attractive and you want her to give him a shot anyway. Accentuate the positive! For the entire scene, Lisa’s husband just sat there with five dogs on his lap, which I’m beginning to think is what he does all day.
Elsewhere, in some non-descript pediatrician’s office, Taylor was trying to figure out why her daughter suddenly has rashes and swollen eyes. Surprise! She has a dog allergy. Taylor’s glee that they would be able to get rid of Snowball the Unwanted Puppy just barely hovered beneath the surface of her faux-concern, and she actually managed not to take a victory lap around her kid’s doctor’s office. She took a metaphorical one during her one-on-one interview, blamed her husband for not knowing Kennedy was allergic to dogs even though she obviously had no idea either, and that was that. The dog was dead to her. Or was he? In a later scene, she seemed as though the little pup might have been growing on her just a bit…
Our attention once again turned to Kim, who had lunch with her 14-year-old daughter who had apparently thrown a cheeseburger at one of her previous suitors. Charming. Still, the kid said she wanted Kim to date and have her own life and be with a man who loves her. It was very sweet! Kim looked like she was about to cry! And then she ruined the moment by convincing her daughter to send her lunch back and snapping at the waitress, which legally permits the first restaurant employee who passes the table to tackle her to the ground if he or she sees fit. Don’t squander what little goodwill might be coming your way, Kimmykins.
Camille, instead of doing anything worthwhile or social or even entertaining, instead chose to drag her house manager out to try on clothes for the Tony Awards, thereby giving her the most opportunities per frame to remind us all that she’s married to Kelsey GRAMMER, who is an ACTOR, and he’s in a PLAY. A BROADWAY play. And he got nominated for a TONY. Just in case any of you guys missed any of that. She just wanted to make sure everyone was up on the plot. Thankfully, this was the first and last we saw of Camille for this episode. As a result, I didn’t even have one rage blackout last night.
At Adrienne’s house, Paul was preparing for their eighth wedding anniversary by checking their chef’s menu card, hiring a harpist to play in the living room (How do you even transport a harp?), and encouraging Adrienne to ignore her diet and have cheese dip. I need a Paul in my life – she snips at him, he smiles and understands that snipping is just her way. Pauls for everyone! Or at least for all of us who are at times a bit difficult and headstrong.
He then asked her to step outside to see her anniversary present, which I thought was going to be either a car, a yacht or a yacht made out of cars, and OMG LOOK AT THE PUPPEHHHHHH DAT FACE LOOK AT DAT FACE AWWWWWWWW. Ahem. Excuse me. You might classify me as a “dog person.” The new pup (who looked about a year old and therefore not actually a puppy) is not only a German Shepard, but he’s also actually German! He came all the way from Germany. I wonder if he speaks German? I knew a girl whose chihuahua had been rescued from a shelter in Mexico, and she had to tell him to do things in Spanish because those were the commands he originally learned. Sientate!
In a far less cute and wonderful discussion about a dog, Taylor and her sociopathic, emotionless creep of a husband were talking about whether or not Snowball the Unwanted Puppy could stay. Taylor seemed genuinely concerned for her daughter’s health and her attachment to the dog and even started to cry while Russell sat there with a slack expression and absolutely no concern for her daughter’s health, psyche or existence in general. I’m not entirely sure that he’s even met Kennedy. Were they ever in the same shot at the Mad Hatter party? I don’t think they were. They should use Russell as the villain next season on Dexter. He would probably kill prostitutes, I’m thinking. But only prostitutes who look like his wife.
The scene quickly changed to the episode’s requisite party, this time at the absolutely sick 60,000 square foot house of someone named Mohamed and his six-foot supermodel child bride Julia. With the help of the Twitter hivemind, I found out that this person is Mohamed Hadid, who made his fortune building Ritz-Carltons in the 80s and who now develops luxury properties for billionaires. The house seen in the show was listed for sale in 2009 for a staggering, mind-bending, completely asinine $72 million, and you can see a couple of pictures of the property here. The event was formal (although clearly not that formal, since Lisa brought Giggy the Pomeranian and Cedric the Gay Houseboy) and everyone looked amazing, but the fabulous party was secondary to the fact that Kim was supposed to be meeting Martin, her new boo for life, that night. She showed up late, wearing a skintight leopard corset dress that pushed her boobs up to her chin, which was not so much a first date dress as a get-your-rent-paid dress, but I guess that’s more appropriate than it might have seemed when I first saw her.
It was so appropriate, in fact, that she actually got waylaid by another male guest while on the stroll from the cocktail hour to the dinner table who may or may not have thought that she was a very expensive hooker, but she managed to escape his tight grasp to sit down and chat with Martin, who actually seemed rather polite and interested in talking to her. He even walked her to the ladies’ room, which is more helpful than you would expect when you consider that the house had 17 bathrooms. Everything was going swimmingly after an awkward start, but then Kim had one too many glasses of Cristal (or whatever it is that people who own $72 million houses drink) and declared that she had married the guy from the first blind date she ever went on.
Oh no, honey. Just. No. I can’t work with that. You can’t drop The M Word on a first date. Martin looked panicked, Kim looked oblivious, but luckily everyone soon realized that Cedric the Gay Houseboy had stripped down to his blue-and-green underwear and gotten into the Turkish baths at Lisa’s behest. Also at her behest, the rest of the party went down to “catch” him soon afterward. No better way to distract from a date faux pas than for a hot, nearly naked, dripping wet man to enter the picture.
After the party, Taylor and Kyle went out to lunch to discuss Taylor’s relationship difficulties, and her main question for Kyle was about when she was going to start considering her husband a friend. At first I thought maybe she was kidding, but she wasn’t. She makes me want to “Oh, honey” again but I should probably only do one of those per post, right? She actually wanted to know at which point she should be friends with her husband. Kyle, like a champ, said what the rest of us were thinking – before you marry him.
Kyle was far more diplomatic than I would have been, but considering that I probably would have lunged across the table and shaken Taylor until I was really sure that she was paying attention, I guess that doesn’t really tell you much. She seemed to be hoping that Kyle would tell her that no one really likes her husband all that much for the first few years they’re married and a friendship develops over time, but, uh, that’s not really how it works in the Western world. Taylor’s situation sounds a lot more like what I’ve read about arranged marriages, but since I’m pretty sure Taylor’s dad had nothing to do with any of this, we’ll go on blaming her for it.
But seriously, doesn’t that more or less confirm that Taylor married him for the money? Not that I really had any doubt, but most women in those marriages like to go on and on about how they’re best friends and soulmates and meant to be with their husbands (example: Camille Grammer) in order to keep up appearances. Taylor, perhaps indicating either an abundance of or a profound lack of intelligence, simply out and admitted that she doesn’t see Russel the Sociopath as a friend or even as someone who has her back. What a depressing thought. Even more depressing: Taylor’s Botox’d cry face. Just get a divorce, get your settlement and child support and go on your way, honey. That nerdy-looking prostitute strangler (he’s definitely a strangler) just isn’t worth it.
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