The Real Housewives of New York City
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Theres one moment in this episode that I will never forget.
No, its not Tinsley shouting in the middle of a corn maze.
Its not Sonja Tremont-Morgan of the Corn-Silk Backside Wipes Morgans pissing in the middle of said corn maze.
Its when Ramona is talking about Tinsley and her recent breakup with her boyfriend, Brian.
But, also, the humanity.
Of course our Ramona hasnt sufficiently listened to Tinsley to know the name of the man shes dating.
Either that, or she did listen and just doesnt care enough to remember.
Or maybe the Pinot has finally soaked through her amygdala and is slowly eroding her memory centers.
Whatever it is, its genius.
I wish that CNN would start doing this on newscasts when politicians attempt to spread disinformation.
I wish I could do this to my partner in real life.
Like hes telling a story, So, we were at the MoMA … Ehhhh: the Met.
This is actually a great episode wrapped around a very uncomfortable and frustrating center.
Hes stalking all over her, terrorizing her.
He is all of her problems, all of her insecurities, and he is relentless.
Take it like the doormat you are, Martin says while charging her.
Thats why youre unhappy.
Im not unhappy, she yelps unconvincingly.
Then why are you crying?
She tries to swerve, but here is Martin.
He is her divorce.
He is her inability to find a mate.
He is the frozen embryos shes crying over while trying on wedding dresses.
He is her mothers and societys expectations, and all she has to do is stand and fight.
Stand and deliver one punch, or take one punch.
Take some sort of action.
She ducks under the bottom rope and says, Im done.
Martin is the therapy that Tinsley needs.
You know what you want.
You know what you like.
Do whatever the fuck you want, Martin tells her.
Yes, you do, Martin tells her assuredly.
I wish this would fix her.
(Netflix, I will happily write this script for you.)
But its not, and they wont.
Well, Martin might.
He seems very well adjusted.
Tinz, on the other hand … well, she has a lot to get through.
That thing she has to get through, mostly, is Dorinda.
[Insert Beavis and Butt-Head laugh] Weed.
Things are already a little tense because everyone learned in Page Six that Dorinda and John broke up.
Further down the table, Tinsley starts mumbling that Dorinda has different rules for different people.
Tinsley is not wrong about Dorindas double standard.
This is a perfect example of it.
When Tinsley tries to defend herself, Dorinda wont let her speak and keeps saying sarcastically, Im scared.
Then she makes fun of Tinsley acting like a child and says she needs a nap.
It just wont stop.
Who am I fooling?
I havent worn big-girl clothes in two months.)
I really felt bad for Tinsley that no one would let her talk.
Even when Luann goes off to console her, she keeps talking over her.
No wonder Tinsley keeps screeching like a raccoon stuck in a chimney.
But I have never seen an instance in which it fit like this one.
Dorinda is just being cruel and not letting up.
She is attacking Tinsley for seemingly no reason and at every chance she gets.
Worst of all, none of the women are stepping in to stop her.
No one is saying, Dorinda, thats enough, or even trying to intervene to let Tinsley talk.
(I feel like that was Bethennys job, and no one has picked up the slack.)
She doesnt even care, and shes just going to get Tinz to do it to be fun.
The last ten minutes of the program are completely welcome buffoonery.
My highlights, as usual, were Sonja Morgan related.
First, she says, Are these weed plants?
The she asks, point-blank, Hey, mister checker-shirt guy.
Youre my pop in.
The mans amused reaction: Let me just take you to the corn maze.
I got pounded last night, she slurs, ripping off a hunk of bread.
Like Marianne inNormal People, I will look at my dick picks every day until I die.
Leah also wants to see to it the guy doesnt have a micropenis.
She says this while holding an apple-cider doughnut.
Never touch a small dick!
Sonja says, embroidering the sampler as it comes out of her mouth.
And you would do anything to a dick if it would get you a bracelet!
I mean, mic drop.
Thank you, Sonja.
Upstairs, on the 23rd floor, a redhead is still in bed.
It is 3 p.m.
This is when she would usually be playing tennis with her friend Jackie.
Something to mark the days as distinct.
This is the day I go to the hairdresser.
This is the night I ran into Buddy and Shanon, and she told me about Joyces divorce.
Theres no more of that.
There is just the blur of the mundane.
She knows what lies ahead, and its the same.
Its all the same.
Instead, Jill Zarin thought,The end of the world is here, and its just boring.
