I feel like I should have my own reality show: "The Keepin' it Real Housewives of Chester County." The first episode would include me rushing from the gym in a panic to pick up my vomiting child at her school. In my first confessional, I would discuss how guilt ridden I was because I put her on the bus this morning even after she told me her stomach felt weird. Then, the cameras would pan to my other daughter, yes, the reckless one with the broken arm. Just keepin' it real in the CC.
My wardrobe would not be designer jeans and a pair of breast implants the size of Texas. It would involve the cleanest sweats I own (clean meaning I only wore them to two workouts before washing), flip flops, and a pair of boobs that are lucky if they get into a bra on a daily basis. There would be no chefs, no pilates on machines with a playmate instructor, and very few manicure/pedicure/hair/massage appointments- if any.
Reality would look like half-assed dinners, sweat filled/grimey workouts in crappy clothes, and a hair trim every two months. Taking a shower without someone coming in is the spa day and taking a shit without an interruption is my colonic appointment. A shopping spree on Melrose is a trip to the grocery store where I pick up a treat for myself that didn't get consumed by the kids. AND I didn't feel guilt ridden because I bought a three dollar and fifty cent bottle of gourmet tea when that money could have been put into college savings or given to charity. Confessional #2- ARRRGGG I'm so SELFISH!!!! I bought expensive tea AND went to the gym!!!!
It would make my day to see an episode of the "real" housewives where their nannies take a day off, they got baby shit on their clothes right before they walked out the door, and then realized they've been walking around all morning rockin' a boogie. Not that I wish harm or misfortune on anyone, but I get a pretty freaking good chuckle out of the scripted, television representation of the"reality" of housewives. I really think if I had my show, I would get like 6 million viewers. Mostly appreciative mothers and fathers who will feel more adequate because of my misfortunes and thankful someone actually had the courage to stop putting on a bleach blonde facade and keep it fucking real.