Tonight, I watched the stupidest show ever. The Real Housewives of Atlanta.
Hours later, I am still dumbfounded by its stupidity.
When I clicked on that particular channel, I was expecting to watch a show about real housewives. Hollywood. Go figure.
Now I remember precisely why we got rid of the television in our home. What an absolute total waste of time.
Let me back up and explain why I was killing brain cells watching tv in the first place. In getting my birthing supplies all lined up and prepared, I realized I needed to wash some towels and washcloths to have on hand. But since we don’t have a dryer, and hang dry everything, unless I use a fabric softener my towels aren’t very soft (even adding vinegar to the rinse cycle doesn’t make them fluffy soft). And I didn’t want to put any chemicals on the towels that I’ll be wrapping my newborn blessing in, so I decided to take the kids to my dad’s house to tumble dry a load.
While there, I had nothing to do but sit. I should have brought a book. I really wish I’d brought a book. But I didn’t. So I turned the tv on and flipped channels for like 20 min. before I finally stopped on this particular show.
I was immediately disappointed (though admittedly curious). It wasn’t about housewives. Not real housewives, anyways. It was a show that followed several divas who considered themselves the elite of their town. Why they decided to name the show The Real Housewives, I’ll never understand. (If they want real housewives, well, here we are.)
As I watched the show, against my better judgment, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly sad for these women. They were petty, vindictive, conceited… and absolutely miserable. Their entire existence vanity.
Their burdens were so incredibly superficial. The entire episode was about how stressed out the ladies were over each one trying to out-do the other at a big social event. Each desired to look the best, have the best dress, and make the biggest “statement”.
These women had a whole entourage to take care of their everyday tasks: a wardrobe stylist to pick out what they’d wear that day, a professional make-up artist, hair stylists, personal chefs, housekeepers, and of course, somebody to watch the kid while mom went on with her life as usual, and did some shopping with her assistants. Over $6,000 for a dress and a purse to wear to one party? Seriously?
I can’t even fathom having such a meaningless life.
I couldn’t help but look down over my very pregnant belly, past the grease spots on my shirt from this morning’s oatmeal, at my busy 1 1/2 yr. old little girl who had her mouth open like a hungry little chick as I spoon fed her yogurt from a cup. And I was overwhelmed with thankfulness for having such a fulfilling life.
I smiled and kissed my little one’s head as she looked up and grinned at me.
And I realized, once again, how perfectly content I am.
Life is so short, and precious. Fill it with love. Fill it with simplicity. Fill it with Yahweh.
Nobody will remember what you wore to last year’s party. Nobody will care how much money you had or what kind of car you drove when you are dead.
Your heart, your impact on those around you, and the difference you made in the lives of those who knew you is what will be remembered. Whether it be good or bad.
If there is something in your life that is stealing your joy, give it back to Satan. Remove all of the drama and excess that tries its best to creep into our hearts and destroy us. Lest you find yourself alone and full of regret at the end of your journey.
Real housewives? No. Not those women.
Real housewives are self-sacrificing, not self-centered. They are frumpy at times, with hair pulled back and a naked face. But it doesn’t matter. Their hearts are overflowing; their life has true purpose. They are full of love, and warm hugs, kisses for boo-boos and a warm meal for a hungry tummy.
Yes. Give me spilled milk and bedtime stories over Versace any day.
I love being a real, real housewife.