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Too bad 'Women's Murder Club' isn't a reality show

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Club_l

Club_lWhen I heard there was a new show premiering last Friday called Women’s Murder Club, I was beyond jazzed. I pictured a reality show hosted by Kathy Griffin, in which divorced and scorned women must choose whether to reconcile with an ex lover/boyfriend/husband… or murder him in front of a live studio audience. While I’d never vote for the next American Idol, I’d happily text 5555 to throw someone into a tank of hammerhead sharks, or 5554 to let the rabid coyotes loose.

It was then I realized that I am not only a little demented, but that reality television has left me so jaded that nothing shocks me anymore. I shrug with indifference while the poor become rich, the fat become skinny, and the ugly become beautiful, convinced that I too could become an anorexic, attractive millionaire in 60 minutes (provided there were limited commercial interruptions). I find myself musing that I might lose 105 pounds by next Monday if I owned a pair of wrist weights, or that I could survive for several weeks in the wilderness thanks to a basic knowledge of edible plant life. I question why an apartment doesn’t come equipped with five attractive twentysomethings, an indoor jacuzzi, and a fully stocked bar; I am completely convinced that I could leap from the top of a skyscraper and land safely on a neighboring roof a mere 20 feet away. I sing ”A Moment Like This” along with the radio and wonder why Timbaland’s people haven’t contacted me about a recording a duet; I scream “MOVE THAT BUS!” and expect a brand new home filled with an array of cutting-edge appliances from Sears to appear. Like many young girls, I hope to fall in love with approximately 2 or 3 men within a six-week time span, and I dream that my engagement proposal will draw high Nielsen ratings. If I don’t agree to marriage, I expect some form of monetary compensation for the time I’ve put into the relationship —at least a million dollars. If I have kids someday, I plan to lease them to CBS.

So, PopWatchers, do you have any unrealistic expectations thanks to a thorough brainwashing of reality television? Women’s Murder Club (starring Angie Harmon, pictured) is not a reality show designed to help women carry out insidious plots of revenge, but would you be surprised if it were? And (admit it) are you a little disappointed that it’s not?