Hello my RHO-ATLiens — Jodi Walker here. It’s been a while since I walked the mean Atlanta Housewives streets at EW (the trashcans are overflowing with discarded statement-sleeve blouses, the rats wear tiki hut wigs, and pages of printed-out text message litter the ground), but I’ve dipped back in just in time to talk about… the Kenya and Apollo texting scandal of 2K14? Did I never leave? Is this some sort of 13 Going on 30 situation where I thought I had been living my life for the last two years, but I’m about to drop back into the closet of my old apartment covered in wishing dust and realize that no time has passed, I’m just in love with Mark Ruffalo now?
Let’s face it: We have been blessed by the Bravo gods with this fight between Kandi and Porsha. Not only was it off-the-noggin’ bonkers, and featured more utterances and sporadic bleepings of “she said she wanted to eat my p—y ’til I came” than one could have ever imagined possible, but there was also one arguer so clearly in the wrong, and one in the mostly-right. In the Housewives world there is no greater rarity/gift than getting to understand an argument between two women enough to decipher who is in the right and who is in the with wrong with absolute certainty.
The more typical situation, as with the central argument tonight, is that everyone is very, very wrong for very different reasons, because this is a show about a beautiful, modern-day monsters. Kenya should not be throwing divorce parties for people who don’t want divorce parties. And Phaedra should not be bringing up nonsense from two years ago that her awful husband already admitted he lied about and that she has organized a number of prayer circles and convertible rides to move past. But let’s just stay focused on the positive for now: This episode featured an entire segment where people just made fun of Uncle Peter. Real question: Have I died and gone to heaven?
No, it surely was not heaven, because in heaven I know that I can despise Peter with abandon — the clip of him sniffing some hostess’ neck plays on a loop and I just get to laugh and laugh, and all the Hemsworth brothers are there, even the Westworld one. This can’t be heaven because throughout this episode, Peter behaves with an uncharacteristic dignity, especially with regard to being respectful to his soon to be ex-wife. Because just like Porsha’s poison of choice has switched from violent rage to pathological lying, the tides of despicable men on RHOA have also shifted…
And we’ll get to Bob. Oh, we’ll get to Bob.
First, though, let’s pick back up in Maui where last week left off. Apparently, all of these women can think of no better birthday treat for the men in their lives than to drag them to a contractually obligated trip where they will spend the majority of the time screaming at their co-workers. The rest of the time will be divided between various nautical vessels and the tennis courts, where Phaedra and Kenya will shore up their budding friendship just in time to let producers convince them to burn it to the ground.
For Peter’s birthday, Cynthia has arrived at his door bearing room service, and y’all, I just knew we were about to have to experience another awful sexual scenario, like that time Uncle Peter came downstairs in his knee-length boxers so Cynthia could give him a — shudder — sensual massage. But thank Andy Cohen on high, wrapped up in the gift box “to remember [her] by” is not a naked photo (I can’t be the only one who thought it was going in that direction), but a blinged-out Bible…which is somehow even weirder.
Peter and Cynthia talk about how uncomfortable it is to not know how to treat each other as they transition out of being husband and wife. Peter wonders if he was a bad husband (all that hostess sniffing wasn’t great, Pete!), and Cynthia says she knows she was never cut out to be a good wife. They both take accountability for their actions and tell each other they can always call if they need to, and it’s all very civil. There’s only one thing that can right these unbalanced Housewives scales then…
NEXT: Roasted your rice