The other night I caught a repeat episode of The Real Housewives of Vancouver (that’s in Western Canada for those of you from other parts of the world who are reading this.) I’d seen an episode a few years ago based on the housewives of Orange County, and I’ve seen commercials for spinoffs in other cities as well.

Holy Batman… they all look like the Joker. yikes.

The premise of all these silly shows is the same. The camera follows these filthy rich women around as they go about their high falutin’ day-to-day life… trips to the spa, elaborate lunch dates that cost more than my mortgage with other equally rich women, buying new ferraris, vaycays to the south of France on their private jets, suntanning their leather looking skin on their million dollar yachts, shopping for Christian Louboutin shoes before they head home to see what their personal chef has whipped up for dinner. Gimme a break. These are supposed to be REAL HOUSEWIVES???… these are real RICH-WIVES, not HOUSEWIVES.

Aside from all the shopping, tanning and backstabbing, they all seem find time to soiree with their personal plastic surgeons. Now, I’m not a person who is against plastic surgery, but I can’t stand it when you see these kinds of women who have so much work done they look rediculous and say they haven’t had any work done. Yah, and neither has Joan Rivers. Their faces are frozen, their lips look like they’ve lost about five rounds with Mohammad Ali, their teeth look like chicklets, and their cheeks are round like a Cabbage Patch doll. Seriously.

Obviously they don’t have a show that flashes the glamorous life of real everyday housewives because that’s what many women really are – what would be the fun in that I suppose. I know lots of stay at home moms who are a more traditional “housewives”. I admire every one of them. Instead of flashy cars and expensive jewelry, they are driving minivans and donning jewelry made of pipe-cleaners handcrafted by the 5 year old the day before. They aren’t at the spa, they are at the grocery store. Suntanning to them is what happens when you are outside hanging the neverending pile of laundry on the clothesline on a sunny day. And what’s for dinner is whatever you are going to make… there’s no gourmet chef because YOU are the chef.

Doesn’t every woman cook in a dress with hair done up and pearls on????

I say we give the REAL HOUSEWIVES of the world two thumbs up and a hip hip hooray! Enough with these phoney, self-absorbed, back stabbing cougars!

There, I’ve said my piece. I gotta go make sure I have the next episode taped for later… hey… making fun of these women makes me feel better – what can I say!  hahhah!