Okay, I’m just going to say what nobody here wants to say: Meghan, at this early point in time – just three episodes in – I think we’re all prepared and very willing to like you. Personally, I think that you come off as intelligent and pretty and so unbelievably thin that I’d like to meet with you privately so you might rub yourself against me in the hopes that whatever parasite you have been infected with leaps directly from your ravaged digestive system into my own. I want your good standing on this show to grow and to prosper, like a beautiful cherry tree that I hope you get to plant in the front yard of a home you will never have to move from, a tree so lovely that Shannon will not be able to stop herself from pissing on it during a luncheon because of that one time when you didn’t flirt with her husband. And with that form of kindness in the forefront of my mind, I have to tell you to stop it with the f*cking hashtags. I let the “hashtag coolstepmom” go by because it was your first episode and I was too busy contemplating the vast similarities between Tamra and that bile-spewing demon from The Exorcist and chanting safe words that might keep Vicki from shrieking and rifling through the latest issue of the DSM book of psychological disorders in my effort to properly diagnose Shannon as anything other than “simply out of her mind crazy,” but this week you did it again and actually allowed the words “hashtag over-it” to escape from your lips. And so, with genuine affection, I must implore you to never let such a thing happen again and I will even use vernacular you are drawn to in the hopes that I achieve a breakthrough here: hashtag stopthisf*ckingnonsenserightnow.
So it’s out in the open and I’m fully prepared to move beyond this Meghan thing and head out to dinner with Tamra, Heather, and Ms. Hashtag herself as they meet up in Dana Point – which is where I learned to surf! – and they all get along famously and the only somewhat dark moment is when a waiter comes over and asks the women whether or not they might like some alcohol and Heather responds by staring at him in kind of a stunned alarm. Hear me now! Any waiters or masseuses or valets or manicurists or Fed Ex deliverymen who are reading this and at some point might find themselves attending to or interacting with a Housewife: do not ask if they want alcohol! Assume that, no matter the time of the day or the night and no matter the occasion, they would like to drink. I mean, should they instead have to deal with both their Bravo co-workers and with themselves while sober? Are you people mad?
And speaking of mad, it looks like Shannon is not getting over her fury at Meghan for having the audacity to be attractive and for once having the nerve to say hello to Shannon’s husband when they found themselves standing next to one another at a party. No, when Meghan called Shannon because she had a question about a fundraiser Shannon once planned, Shannon’s response was brusque. I think that Meghan is probably hopeful that Shannon will eventually realize that she is not out to cause any sort of discord in a stranger’s life, but that’s probably far too rational a thought process to have when you’re dealing with someone Tamra describes thusly: “You have to be very careful with Shannon because things set her off. Good luck, Meghan.”
Holy sh*t. Can you imagine being thought of in such a manner? Time to evolve, ladies.