First up on this (rather dull) season premiere of The Real Housewives of Orange County, we check in on Heather Dubrow’s new house as the whole fam walks through. Plastic surgeon hubby Terry must’ve been real busy fixing botched surgeries over on his E! show and this whopper of a manse is proof. It’s so freaking big, the Dubrows have to teach their kids a new word: porte-cochere, which Google informs me is a coach gate or carriage porch, a.k.a. a pointless cover for the driveway that rich people build to show guests just how damn rich they are.
The tour of the Dubrow’s compound continues, and the family mostly looks like ants walking around, given the camera angles/fact that this house may be made for giants. Heather’s a smidgen over budget, but “yes, I do need that $7,000 sink in the beauty salon,” she laughs in that way affected people do when they are designing their own home beauty salons. But this whole
spending money building process is just killing poor Heather, who acknowledges these are indeed rich white girl problems. We pause to gaze out a balcony off Heather’s son’s room, long enough for Terry to label it the “pot smoking balcony.” (Well played, Terry.) Heather’s quick to admonish her beau, before dating herself by calling pot “hooch.”
Vicki Gunvalson and Shannon Beador have a bland dinner wherein we learn they use matching reading glasses for menus! And that Shannon is “trying to follow a yeast-free diet,” so she can’t have salad dressing! And that Brooks has moved in! Wait, that one’s actually kind of news. Go on, Vicki. “He has no assets, so he gets nothing if he moves out. It’s like a pre-nup without a nup,” Vicki says. Shannon’s supportive even though Vicki’s offspring aren’t, and we’re treated to a flashback of Vicki’s daughter Briana hammering home how crappy Vicki is at choosing a suitor.
In a total Housewife move, Vicki turns a negative surrounding her own life around on her dinning companion. “People say Brooks wasn’t great. But people change. They can evolve and grow. You and David are a perfect example of that,” Vicki backwards-compliments while Shannon just gulps and nods, stiffly. “You were on the brink of divorce and could’ve gone either way.” Shannon is still frozen and offers a flat “mmhmm” as a response.
Meanwhile, Eddie Judge takes a photo of wife Tamra’s fake breasts. “One’s higher than the other,” Eddie says, and it’s unclear if he’s kidding or not. It’s implied there’s a valid reason for this nudity—Tamra is about to go under the knife and have her chest augmented again—though we never hear why these particular photos are necessary. On the way to the operation, Tamra says she didn’t tell anyone. “You don’t know how to keep a secret,” says Eddie. Zing! “It’s not in my nature to think before I speak, so it’s a struggle,” Tamra shrugs at us. Don’t change, gurl.
Heather heads to dinner with Meghan Edmonds, the new housewife. Heather explains who she is: “Most people know Jim Edmonds as a hometown hero who played baseball for the Angels. Meghan is his third wife.” That’s pretty much all we need to know about this 30-year-old, who the producers have clearly thrown in the mix to make the older housewives jealous. What’s funny is that no one can say “Jim” without saying “Jim Edmonds.” Even the chyron for Meghan says “Jim Edmonds’ wife.” Dude’s like the opposite of Cher or Madonna; you contractually must use his full name or face a fiery pit of despair (situated behind the porte-cochere in some wing of the Dubrow’s new house).
Meghan wants kids, but Jim Edmonds had a vasectomy, so it would have to be in vitro, which Heather has done and knows all about. In fact, Heather’s got extra frozen embryos, so Meghan could, like, totally have one. The gals giggle about swapping fertilized eggs like they’re trading old Chanel bags. Then Meghan tells us she broke all of her rules for Jim Edmonds: “I promised I’d never marry a guy with kids; he’s got four. I said no more than 11 years older than me; he’s 14; and never a pro athlete. But then Jim Edmonds asked me on a date!”
NEXT: Let’s talk about Brooks