The women were in full fund-rasing mood last night, God bless ’em. Everybody! Gather now at Carole’s ping-pong tournament in support of documentary film-making, and watch little white balls thwock Aviva in the belly or upside LuAnn’s head. Carole looked adorable in a kerchief and white sneakers though I imagine some of you might be unkind about her decision to go braless in that sweater. George went Good Fellas on his closet, and came out in a fat white tie and black suit. He was grinning, but his lecherousness seemed a put-on, shaken by being tossed out of Ramona’s den the day before. “Only an animal would kick out a human beings,” he said. “Only animals attack humans.” (A., Has he ever walked through Costco’s meat department? And B., He knows he’s appearing on a show called Real Human Housewives, right? It’s the one where tables are flipped and weaves yanked and reunion hosts body-checked back into their seats.)
LuAnn wisely advised Aviva, who was jonesing for a show-down, to stay cool because tempers were already too high. “You don’t want to ruin Carole’s ping-pong party,” she said. No of course not. Once the tourney got under way, George bear-hugged Mario. Sonja’s dominatrix heels inhibited her backhand. And Aviva whiffed her serve then whined that she deserved a second chance. Save it for the reunion, sister! Heather managed to beat a ferocious-looking Avery for the championship but then her buzz when she walked up on Aviva scolding Jonathan for not immediately taking her side. Doesn’t he get it? Don’t you understand her infallible logic? Can you believe the injuries she, and now her poor helpless father (74? 80? almost 80?), suffered at the hands of that viper Ramona. Jonathan looked helpless, and smoking hot by the way. So Heather moved in and told Aviva to can it already. Aviva realized that she must have been playing poorly on camera because she immediately agreed and said “Let’s move on, let’s move on, let’s move on.” Unfortunately what she meant was let’s move on to the other corner of the party where she could tell anybody who would listen how pathetic Ramona is and how she’s nothing but a hillbilly drunk.
The moment had finally come. Heather’s design friend dramatically unwrapped an empty box, revealing a sharp image of a haughty Sonja luxuriating besides some half-cooked poultry and fully basted pectorals. She nodded and smiled, without giving much away. Then Heather turned her attention to the solo shot of Sonja. This amused our girl. “Oh beautiful,” she purred, like a distant mother would over a child’s artwork. “I love the little Cornish hens, they’re so elegant. I love that dress, I wore it to a charity event. Oh and the classic headband, right?” Heather’s team looked on expressionless until Sonja finally announced she was going to go with the naked man option. Victory! Least dramatic end to a storyline ever. At least Heather looked lovely in that soft green polka-dotted blouse.
Carole was looking her usual downtown chic shivering outside in the cold in fingerless gloves. The better to slip a metro-card and filch a potato! She had big news to share. She had finally turned her book into her publisher. That meant her computer was at home resting its undercarriage on a donut and Carole was ready to party. In what I’m sure was an episode once on Sex & the City she announced that she was going to throw herself a baby book shower. “Do you know how many strollers and diaper genies and onesies I’ve bought over the years,” she said. “I want presents! I want to be celebrated!”
NEXT: Ramona drove