The Breakup

To: Bravo

CC: The Housewives of NYC, OC, NJ, etc.

From: Snarkshelf

Dear Housewives,

It's not you, it's me. No, wait. It IS you.

We have had a good couple of years, but now we are done. Being the reality TV hound that I am, I was infatuated with you for a long time. I have been there from the beginning, chatting about Laurie's new boyfriend or Jill's fugly apartment with my real-life gal pals. Is rehashed one of your bad parenting decisions or ridiculous fashion choices as if I were picking on one my my actual frenemies.

I stuck with you through Bethenny being dateless to being pregnant and now, according to next week's previews, getting an eleventymilliongallion dollar buyout of her Skinnygirl margarita concoction, which shows that idiots will buy anything from a famous person (as the bottled stuff, as invented by Bethenny, tastes like Scope. Here is how to be skinny: don't drink. Alcohol is sugar. You're welcome).

Does this drink make me look fat? OK, does it make me sound shrill, then?

Anyway, I liked you at first because, well, many of you were actual wives. I liked seeing how you were just like anyone else - trying to keep your kids from smoking pot in the house and working and figuring out life. Sure, this "drama" was set against a fancier backdrop than my own abode and in a place with either much better weather (OC) or window shopping (NYC). But when you got right down to it, it was life in general.

Then many of you got divorced, so very few of you are "wives" anymore. Then many of you went bankrupt or into foreclosure, so while I enjoyed the storyline of gifting your daughter a BMW for her birthday, I realized the joke was on me. You never made one single payment. The car was likely repossessed.

Act zany. Bravo is paying.

Tamra's diamond-studded Rolex for her 40th birthday? A producer-supplied prop. All those marriage vow renewals (A season staple in Housewives-world)? Poppycock - and paid for by resorts in exchange for air time.

Soon, the shows became scripted product placement. Our relationship dies a little tiny death every time I hear "I decided..." as in "I decided to gather all the girls (cast members) and take a weekend in San Francisco," or "I decided to throw a little Botox party," or "I decided to meet Ramona for lunch at the Il Bianco and talk about what she said last night."

I would like to see "I decided I would pay for that $4000-a-night suite at the Fairmont in San Fran," or "I decided to look up dermatologist-to-the-stars Dr. Olaf's California license," or "I decided Il Bianco told Bravo we could film there." That would restore your credibility.

Some of those products are your own (see, Skinnygirl margarita). And some of them are horrifying. You've got Ramona's Silpada Jewelry and now a line of wine. Gretchen's got some godawful makeup line; has no one noticed that her skin is horrible? It is dry and broken out and overly makeup-ed at the same time. Run, cosmetic shoppers, run!

Alexis has a dress line! And a Filipino seamstress she bosses around. The creations look they they come from Victoria's Secret's "fashion" catalogue. Lynn makes bracelets!

Oh, and everyone's a model. It's not a season without the wives walking some runway somewhere.

I'm a model now, Bitches!

But those are not even the plot points that bug me the most. Simply put, there aren't any anymore.

Last night's RHONYC was something about someone saying something to someone at someone's party. Then someone else had lunch with someone and told her what someone said. Then someone else had lunch with some other people and they role played what someone would say when they talked to someone about it. Then someone complained about someone some more. Then they all screamed at each other.

The gist of it was: Ramona came to your party and you did not have Pinot Grigio for her. The nerve!

What part of Pinot Grigio do you not understand?!?!!?!

Say what, ladies?

Seriously, my head hurts. It is like you are speaking a foreign language that I did not learn, and that is puzzling to me because 1) I go out to lunch a lot; 2) I never shut up and 3) I am a former mean girl who could expertly manipulate both conversations and people.

So, enjoy, girlfriends. I will be sitting out the polo match in the Hamptons and Peggy's new boobies and Tamra throwing a drink at Jeana. I will never know if Bethenny ever stops crying or if Jason's nice parents ever realize that she is emotionally about 14 years old. (sidebar: her therapist, while very nice, should also lose his license for showing therapy sessions on TV).

I will never know if Peggy or Alex become homely top models over age 40 (I am guessing not). I will never know if Tamra's new dude plays for both teams (I am guessing yes). I will have to live without Jill Zarin's bullying.

Andy Cohen, you can stay. You are funny.

I feel better already, and will have enough time on my hands to resume my modeling career.

Love, Snarkshelf