Missy Don't Quite Be Puttin' It Down On The Real Housewives Of New York City
Ramona tries to ambush LuAnn with an ex of Tom's, while Carole and Dorinda prove they're the only two women in this show worth saving when the flood waters take New York, as they go take part in the Women's March.
If LuAnn's ill-advised but inevitable wedding to Tom was the midpoint of Season 9, this episode served as a not-particularly compelling midseason premiere, re-setting the table for the ladies, prioritizing the storylines for the weeks to come, and ending on a party that I'm sure everybody had hoped would result in a lot more fireworks.
Apparently, all those times that Ramona has unsubtly hinted at having more info about Tom's cheating ways have been a reference to a woman named Missy, who was apparently still dating Tom when he and LuAnn met. Why Ramona thinks this would faze LuAnn -- who has already established that she could catch Tom in bed with the cast of Summer House and still split hairs about how it doesn't count -- is a mystery, but we have long ago established that Ramona will do things just to be an asshole, so here we are. Missy shows up (as does our skeezy old pal Harry Dubin), and there's a lot of whispering but no actual confrontation. In fact, with Bethenny emphatically and enthusiastically turning down Ramona's invitation, the closest thing to a confrontation in the whole episode is Carole trying to bully Tinsley into cutting her hair. That tequila trip to Mexico can't come fast enough.
- Bethenny And Frederik's Spinoff Spectacular
No. NO. Spin these two off into their Will & Grace-esque apartment-flipping show on your own time, Bravo. I don't care about his efforts to get her to de-clutter. I don't care how she will sass him back even though she knows he's right. I give zero shits about the roiling and ill-advised sexual tension. Pass on all of it.
So now that Ramona has "singlehandedly" renovated her apartment (that is without paying a decorator, not actually lifting a finger to do any work), she's throwing a cocktail party. At said party, Ramona's look becomes the topic of conversation, as the severe ponytail, short black dress, and boots are compared at various times to Barbara Eden in I Dream Of Jeannie, a Russian dominatrix, and The Matrix. The parts of Tinsley's mother's face that still move are all quietly horrified but too polite to say it.
Harry's as skeezy as ever, but he does manage to be a comforting presence, especially when Sonja is around. Also, we learn that Harry and Tinsley go way back, to when she was "hanging out with Kelly Bensimon in Miami." She still says she "would not touch him with a ten-foot pole," though.
I do still feel bad for LuAnn. She's made her bed, of course, and at this point she's willfully taking part in her own ruination. But I do believe she honestly just wants to be married, for whatever reason, and she wants people to be happy for (envious of?) her, just the way she's envious of (happy for?) her other friends. When she pulls Tom aside and darkly asks him who "that woman from the Regency" is, we all got a sad look at what LuAnn's near future looks like. I'm not going to not feel bad just because she's dug this grave for herself.
Our Girl ("our"?) is preparing to Return to Society after her tabloid-y years in exile. And while she does refuse to change up her look in any significant way (Carole is right to say the very fact that Tinsley is petrified of doing this means she should do it), she does go through the motions of looking at apartments in the West Village, including one cramped little unit that likely costs three times my rent at least. It's cute, especially watching Tinsley's mother -- Frances Fisher from Titanic -- react in Botoxed horror at a "walk-in" closet that wouldn't even be good enough for handbags, but didn't we already do this downtown/uptown thing like six seasons ago with Bethenny and LuAnn?
Call it post-Trump malaise or Trump Derangement Syndrome or whatever, but Carole is still figuring out how to cope with Hillary's election defeat. This week, that means venturing into a friendship with Tinsley, being unnecessarily mean about Anne Hathaway at last year's Winter Botanical Garden ("it wasn't her best look"), and looking to re-upholster her mother-in-law Lee Radziwill's antique couch, which has been shredded to death by the feral cats she keeps at home.
Messy as she can get, Dorinda is still the best of us. This week, she continues to score points for being the only other truly anti-Trump Housewife besides Carole. As she and Carole march on Washington during the Women's March, it fascinates me that none of the other women bothered to show up even insincerely.
There's a bunch at the beginning of the episode where Sonja is chafing under her new live-in relationship with French Edgar. (She can no longer poop with the bathroom door open like she always does, which more than anything just makes me once again consider her poor interns.) Frenchie wears red sweaters with tan patches on the elbows, and even Sonja deserves better than that, so I'm throwing my lot in with Rocco, who seems totally unfazed when Sonja tells him he's got competish. But by far Sonja's highlight this week was in reference to her ex, Harry Dubin, as they get predictably chummy at Ramona's party. Per Sonja: "Harry could be my fifth husband in the nursing home. He could have the blue shower gel, I could have the pink shower gel. We could fight over Scrabble." Remember this Sonja when she's trying to abscond with margarita pitchers in Mexico in a few weeks.