I’m exhausted. I wish that instead of watching this episode I’d just gone out to dinner with Ken and Lisa and drunk pink wine with them and blushed over Ken’s winky wink come ons and reminded him with a snicker that it wasn’t his birthday. Giggy and I could have shared a dessert and after Ken fell asleep in his flan Lisa and I might have chosen the final table setting for Pandora’s wedding. I would’ve begged her to reconsider the rhinestone heart napkin holder and she would’ve teased me for being poor. What a night we could’ve had!
Instead: Scary caterwauling. If Taylor was feeling so unwell, so anxious and on the verge of hysteria, shouldn’t one of her life coaches have urged her to perhaps stay in for the evening instead? And if she felt under duress to meet Bravo’s shooting demands, couldn’t she just have gone and folded wash clothes with Kim? Why, why, why did it seem a good idea to put herself in front of the cameras, glug vino, and go to a party where she knew Camille would be? I swear I’m not blaming the victim here but I’m just so struck dumb as to why Taylor was even in front of the cameras for her third filmed breakdown of the season? At a certain point wouldn’t the producer or the camera guy have to just call cut out of pity or disgust?
But I’m getting ahead of myself so let me back up. For once Bravo cut to the chase. After a few brief uninteresting interstitials — Portia no longer recognizes her Grandma Estella; Mauricio paired black shoes with brown pants; Adrienne and Brandi nibbled on lady bites of pizza — the crazy train took off for Malibu. Brandi was anxious to show the women a good time so she invited them all over to her friend’s beach pad for some wine and belly dancing lessons. (You know, I bet if Brandi had gone with her original plans for the evening the sheer novelty of the lessons might have kept the crazy at bay.)
NEXT: Tensions mount on dueling limo rides