You Win, Bravo

I watch too much Bravo. It wasn’t always this way. When I lived alone, I couldn’t afford cable, so I stuck to Netflix, Amazon Prime and Phantom of the Opera. But now that I have Bravo, I find myself completely invested in the lies and lives of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

My dad, the reluctant Netflix provider.

I hate myself for it, really. There are so many good shows out there — smart shows I tell myself I *should* be watching, books I *should* be reading, or comedians I *should* be studying. But when I come home from a long day of dog walking and find myself hangry beyond the point of return, all I want is a tall glass of wine and 30 minutes of women screaming their truths.

I’m a total mess when I watch the show. The kind of person you absolutely hate to watch TV with. The kind of person who criticizes everything about the show, self-righteously huffs and puffs at the hypocrisy of it all, and then calls you up at 8:00 next Tuesday to do it all over again.

I tell myself it’s educational. That I watch this so I know how to be a good friend. So I know how to conduct myself – and how NOT to conduct myself – in public. A few weeks ago, I turned to my roommate and said, “You know, if there’s one thing this show has taught me, it’s to be really careful with my words. Like, never say anything you wouldn’t want repeated.”

And then I went out and called someone a “lil bitch ass.”

“Maybe if I read more,” I tell myself, “I’ll lose interest in this smut and grow into the pretentiously well-read person I’ve always wanted to be.”

So, I started reading Anna Karenina. I think it’s a cool name, and I’d like to keep a copy by my bed to intimidate people.

“My God! A Tolstoy fan! How impressive and also arousing!” my male suitors will say.

My current bedside set-up. It’s neither impressive nor arousing. 

Apparently, Anna Karenina (did you hear? I’m reading it) is one of the greatest books ever written. Which is why I want to like it – I really, really do. But alas, Bravo, has ruined me. Where I’d hoped to lose myself in the intrigue of times gone by, I am instead judgy as shit. Anna Karenina, to me, is a no more than an unabridged season of Housewives:

“Will new-girl Kitty ever find her voice? Can Anna – former fan-favorite and Housewife veteran – survive her most dramatic season yet? Will Vronsky stop being a lil bitch ass and move the f on? Find out this season on Anna Karenina.”

See? I’m ruined.