While CERTAIN TV shows may lead the majority of the world to believe that the only thing a housewife can think about in her spare time is banging a hot gardner, pool boy, pizza delivery dude, or really anything else that is young, tight and sexy (real housewives, desperate housewives, bitchy housewives, table throwing psychotic housewives, please don’t come OUT of your housewives), that’s really not the case! Not for ALL of us anyways.
Shit, in my spare time I have often liked to joke about the hot physical therapist (aka “Hot Doctor”) I had and the torrid fake affair I imagined us having, but my REAL fantasies? Those are much much different, as I imagine most REAL housewives not depicted on TV as batshit insane money hungry bitches would be too. Our fantasies, our REAL fantasies, are on a completely different level- perhaps some men might be surprised to find out what goes on in the mind of not-on-TV-housewives.
I fantasize about a maid. And not just any old maid, but just one for scrubbing behind the toilets, cleaning the funk out of the corners of the bathtubs, scrubbing down my disgusting oven, and killing spiders.
I fantasize about a vacation where I can take the kids (because leaving them is too fucking stressful) but not have to deal with them.
I fantasize about a full 8 hours of sleep. UNINTERRUPTED.
I fantasize about a car that can ACTUALLY fit all of our shit into it but not kill us on gas mileage.
I fantasize, EVERY single day about nap time where the kids actually sleep, and once nap time is over? I fantasize about bed time.
I fantasize about a calorie free alcoholic drink. Or brownie. Or cheesecake. Preferably all of the above.
I fantasize about the day BOTH kids are in school and how the quiet will be so overwhelming I might actually faint from happiness.
I fantasize about having a flat stomach, no loose skin, no pooch, no stretchmarks- and not because I give a flying fart in space what anyone ELSE thinks about how I look, but because I want to feel like I am sexy.
The pool boys or just general eye candy is nice, so are fuck-me-boots, name-brand clothes and manicured toes- but are ANY of those things going to get behind my toilet and scrub off caked on toddler piss, silence back-sass or buy my a car that hasn’t even been invented yet?
I didn’t think so.
In the name of all REALLY real housewives everywhere- can we stop with the ridiculous shows with women who have far more money and means than 99.9% of mere mortals? That shit gives us ALL a bad name. And makes it less likely for anyone to invent calorie free liquor, wine, and brownies because they’re too busy pumping out diamond encrusted tennis bracelets that none of us can afford, and that just ain’t right.
Person on tv: Age is just a number! 10yo: Yeah, a number that pulls you closer to death.
Party animal over here pic.twitter.com/OVpKPuu4Yc
Proving to my kids that they ARE Friends goo.gl/fb/QbSSNp
Writing my next book Me: My period inspired a whole new chapter! Husband: Your lack of period inspired a whole book... Me: pic.twitter.com/fpNHwnYeAF
The card my kid made me at school. I truly don't know why I expected anything different 😂😂 pic.twitter.com/T7nai0ycqS
Valentine's Day before 4pm and I'm already putting on pajamas because my uterus is bloated to the size of a Buick and erupting like Mount Vesuvius so I guess you could say I'm feeling PRETTY romantic.