My friend Jacki is a very bright woman. She runs her own successful business, is creative and articulate, has three gorgeous kids, and is married to a surgeon. She used to be the head of marketing of an international company, and is one of the most stylish people I know.
And, as I found out recently, she is completely addicted to The Real Housewives of New York City. And The Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills. And The Real Housewives of New Jersey. In fact, put a Real Housewife on the air and Jacki will watch it. She also follows the characters on Facebook, and spends hours discussing their antics with friends and in online forums.
“When on earth do you find time to do all this?” I asked her.
Jacki shrugged. “I watch them and go online when the kids are asleep and Daniel is working,” she said. “It’s my guilty pleasure. I love them.”
Now don’t get me wrong. I like a bit of Housewives myself every now and then. Still, the fact that Jacki – an ambitious, highly educated career woman – is a tragic Housewives addict is utterly incongruous to me.
Then there is Darren, the husband of a friend. I’ve known Darren for over ten years, and yet he’s barely said a word to me. A highly successful lawyer, Darren is gruntish, blokish, and highly sportish. He discusses cricket and footy with my husband, and occasionally exchanges information about falling stock markets or the price of housing, but that’s about it.