The Real Housewives of New Jersey
- TV Show
- Reality TV
- run date
- Current Status
- In Season
Pigtails and Dolores talk about what’s going on with everybody — Pigtails feels that Siggy is being dismissive of everyone and was wrong to call them “animals” and proclaim that she has a “higher IQ.” Dolores, ever the loyal friend, defends Sig, saying she doesn’t know her own IQ, so maybe Siggy is right. (Oh honey, no.) I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I have to side with Margaret here: While I don’t like that she’s being insensitive about Siggy’s crying (crying is human and emotional and while yes, she does seem to be doing it a lot, it’s not really something I’d pick on), it is incredibly rude to basically tell your friends you think they’re dumb. I cannot wait for this to inevitably blow up later at a booze-filled dinner at a restaurant where diners and waitstaff will pretend to be horrified (but will secretly be delighted). “Who brought you is who you stay with,” Dolores reminds Margaret, and she’s right: Siggy met her at a party once, so Margaret must never cross Siggy.
Turns out dinner is not at a restaurant but at Siggy’s home, and everything starts out pleasant enough. The entryway of the home is filled with 11 portraits of the Sigster in what appear to be different moods (and hung in such a logic-defying pattern that I legitimately feel like I might have an anxiety attack). There’s “I’m so fed up I’m tearing my hair out, but in a fun way” Siggy. There’s “hands-on-hips Power Siggy.” There’s “Hey, I’ve got a fedora and a guitar for some reason!” Siggy. All the Siggies are here.
But the most important Siggy — the Siggy we should all be paying the most attention to — is the one not hung on the wall at all. That would be IRL Siggy, who is pretending that everything is okay and kiss-kissing the girls as they enter her abode — and that means girlfriend is pushing down some major rage that is inevitably going to come out in a torrent over little cups of tomatoes and (I think?) raisins served by someone who is credited as SexZ Chef. (That’s pronounced “Sexy,” in case that wasn’t clear.)
Things heat up almost immediately — and not just because of SexxxZee Chef — as Teresa and Siggy head to the couch and trade thinly veiled barbs about the previous night. (Not for nothing, but for someone who is obsessed with manners, Siggy says neither “please” nor “thank you” to the gentleman who serves her wine.) After a few minutes of awkward silence interrupted by awkward small talk (and Siggy complimenting SeXyChEf’s jumbo lump crab cakes), Sig lets loose: She’s still angry about the cake, and Lori, her true best friend, validated her feelings. (This makes me feel bad for Dolores, who has been validating Siggy’s feelings for days on days on days.)
Siggy tells the gang that the cake was $1,000 and delivered to Melissa on a silver platter, so she should have been more gracious. (I’m not an expert on $1,000 cakes, but I feel like it’s a bad look to, while schooling people on etiquette, tell them how much you spent on them.)
Margaret and Siggy end up arguing over when it’s actually acceptable to cry — over spilled cake or not over spilled cake — and Siggy finally (finally!) gets to the heart of what’s bothering her: She was hurt, and that should have been enough to make her friends apologize. She accuses Margaret of having no compassion (seems accurate), and Margaret insinuates that Siggy overreacts to things (okay, also accurate). Gosh, if two women who met in a store two days ago can’t make their friendship work, I’m not sure who can.
Round and round we go, until Siggy does the unthinkable: She calls the women trash — and everyone storms off. “The crab cakes were salty!” Teresa callously lobs at Siggy before bouncing (poor sexE chef) and that’s a wrap on dinner.
Next week looks like it’ll focus on Siggy and Piggy (who should have their own show based on the title possibilities alone), which is all well and good, but I’m waiting for the moment when Danielle grabs the spotlight and won’t let go. That’s when things will really get good. Until then, let them throw cake.