So, so much happens on “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” this week! Actually, no. I mean, a big day for these gals is brunch and a new purse. Their first world problems must be created from petty grievances, hurt feelings and simmering jealousy over who has the cutest shoes. Good news! They’ve got plenty of those! Oh, and Yolanda has Lyme disease. So, there’s one actual problem. Excuse me, I feel a little faint. Hey, I bet Lisa does, too! We’ll get to that matter shortly, never fear.
Let’s start with Yolanda’s Lyme disease, which has somehow affected her brain and required a shunt in her heart. What’s really scary, though, is Yolanda’s doctor, who looks like an aging Vegas magician or Rob Lowe’s character in “Behind the Candelabra.” Seriously, if my doctor has enough time to get blond highlights, he’s not working hard enough.
Anyway, Yolanda is worried. What if David Foster decides to trade her in for a different trophy wife? What if she dies? The former, by the way, is much more significant. If she dies, at least she won’t have to do the Master Cleanse any more. Ah, death — a blessed relief from dieting!
I would argue that Yolanda’s brain fog isn’t from Lyme disease so much as it’s from a lack of protein. When her daughter calls her up post-op to tell her she’s feeling really woozy from only eating a half-almond that day, Yolanda tells her to go nuts — eat SEVERAL almonds! And chew them thoroughly!
Best part of Yolanda’s segment: Gigi tells Yolanda she can tell she’s nervous about going to the hospital, because she’s wearing clogs. Comfortable footwear is a sign of internal weakness, people! Beat your Crocs to death with a hammer!
Also on the crazy train is Carlton, whose daughter isn’t Mystery, as I thought, but Mysteri. Her other children, Destiny and Cross are spelled as you might expect, but that doesn’t make them any less weird. Carlton loves religious iconography. Crosses are so cool! So is the pentagram! She just loves religious stuff, even if she’s a witch and most of it probably has no significance to her. She also loves to swear in front of her children, dropping the F bomb like a friendly sprinkle of oregano or fairy dust everywhere she goes.
Brandi recruits her mom to help her move into her fabulous new house, which has a rusty oven and may not be as fabulous as she thinks. I’m also wondering why, if Brandi is moving on up, she needs to make her elderly mom shlep her stuff. There are these things called moving companies that can do that for you, Brandi! Anyway, Brandi’s dad won’t speak to her because her Oscar dress was so lousy and he hates her fake boobs. Brandi can’t understand how a guy who used to walk around naked could have become so conservative, and I’d hazard a guess that it may have started the day his daughter almost had a massive nip slip on national television.
The important (I use that word loosely) thing we learn about Brandi is she loves to write poetry. Really, really bad poetry. Her mother jokes, “Byron, Keats and Shelley have nothing to worry about.”