I waste my days watching mindless reality fluff featuring perfect looking women that have too many problems for all that money they have.
My particular favorites are the Real Housewives.
Yes, this cesspool of bowel dirty bitchiness wrapped in Hermés & Louboutins consumes a little too much of my time.
It is an addiction, and addictions don't make sense.
In fact, I should be commended for the fact that I have acknowledged this unhealthy craving for drama that can only exist on television for me because it would otherwise get scratched out of my real life.
Like all addictions, rock bottom will hit like a stray elbow in the night.
But like a real addict, it also takes more than eight rock bottoms to quit the grease for good... in my case it has been closer to eighteen and I'm still not there yet.
I hate the way it makes me feel to sit and cringe through every episode, while the logical part of me screams “change the channel you silly girl!”
Every now and then I skip over an episode on the night it shows for the first time and feel joy and pride at the restraint I hope will continue long into the future...
No chance!
Because by the end of the week I am breathlessly scavenging for a repeat episode, short of itching, scratching, sweating or selling a family heirloom just for one chance to catch up.
Please Help Me!
Ella Roberts,
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