Perhaps it’s the heat. Perhaps it’s perpetual obsession with lazing about in the South, parasol shading delicate skin and the lure of running away never seen or heard from again like a modern day Salinger. Only in a dress. And no lusting after twenty year olds. And all that hermity-ness. Really, I just want a tomato sandwich.
A glorious Southern Charm Savannah party prompts wanderlust and sends a girl into a Real Housewives overload filling one to giddy. And a search for a proper southern tomato sandwich. Turns out it’s really simple, as most adorable things are. Two tomatoes sit waiting at home. In case you missed it, Southern Charm Savannah‘s Brandon, elevated this year to full cast member, is throwing a to-die-for anniversary garden party. It’s not just that all things gay are so attractive; it’s that the event planner quips, “Of course, I’ll make my famous tomato sandwiches.” Wouldn’t you know it? They are the cutest little things under the Mason-Dixon. As are the flowers, the cobblestone patio and Lyle’s side eye when Catherine can’t grasp why he won’t take her shit anymore. Delish on all counts.
LuAnn, LuAnn. If only we all had the ability to use rehab as a solution for financial problems. Girlfriend–please tell us how that works. Seems our favorite Lu was supposed to set up a trust for the kids when the Count dumped her for a baby. Instead, she bought another house and traveled the hemisphere. It all came tumbling down and Lu checked into rehab. Again. If she ends up not paying, meet me in Malibu. I’d like rehab near the sea, thank you very much.
The OC girls return. Tamra still cries with no tears and pretends to have a soul. Oh, and Grizzly Adams Ryan shaved his beard. No word on what happened to the birds, squirrels and woodland animals previously in residence.
Can we talk Ashley of regular Southern Charm? Even the dumbest of girls know not to mess with Southern chicks. Ever heard of “Bless Your Heart?” Or the fact that their mamas teach them from birth to use words and a smile to slice open the neck of enemies, fanning themselves while bitches bleed out? That girl ought to beware. Cameron, Katherine, Chelsea and Naomie the French Warrior Princess, are only gonna take so much.
Patricia, dahling, as spectacular as you are, is it really necessary to make Katherine grovel? When you have all the marbles, it’s poor taste to make someone else admire them, non? Besides, that poor little thing didn’t sleep with Whitney by herself, now did she?
And finally, The Grande Dame Karen, of Potomac, or one of the other DC neighborhoods no one’s ever heard of, girl just be quiet. Zip it. Every time you open your mouth, another lie flies out like a small bird escaping the clutches of malevolence. Close the door to your empty white house, make some perfume and don’t talk to anybody. It’s not a good look. Grande Dames worldwide know it’s classier to say nothing. That way, when all is righted, you can gaze down your nose at those who doubted your power.
Pfft. Girl. Did you learn nothing at Cotillion?