“Sweeeeeeetiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee!!!!”
Crickets.
“Sweeeeeetiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!!!!”
Crickets.
Lately, Kim’s cries of “Sweeeeeeettttttttiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!!!” have gone unanswered.
And “Sweeeeeeeeetiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeee” — Kim’s assistant — is getting fired.
Someday.
In the meantime, we get to see all the reasons why she won’t be back next season: unauthorized smoke breaks, sitting down on the job and refusing to answer to her new name, Toby.
Sweetie as Kim’s slave was a topic tackled last season and although she does run away a lot, I think it can finally be settled. Slaves work hard. Sweetie doesn’t work at all. Case closed. Now fire her, Kim. No three-story arc needed.
Phaedra, an attorney, wants another job as a mortician. In order to run a fabulous funeral home she needs to practice embalming and make-up application, but before she graduates to working on the dead, she has to hone her skills. The lifeless faces of a few botoxed housewives of Orange County would have sufficed, but she kept it local, went to class and worked her magic on Annabel — a rubber dummy.
That would be Dummy A, mannequin and/or Dummy B, Bryson, a man-child that steals razors from Wal-Mart although his mother is” very rich bitch” and he can afford to buy them.
Gregg, his stepfather and the only father he’s known, bailed him out of jail because NeNe was content to let him sit in his cell and stew in his stupidity. At home, Bryson was scolded, told to stop behaving like an attention-seeking teenager and sent to time out.
His life goal is to open a restaurant. Next season he steals a food truck.
After borrowing as much money as he could from Cynthia, Peter put on a lavish one-year anniversary party. Yes, most people don’t go all out for just one year of marriage, but for them one year is a feat.
Here’s the math: most couples' 10 years = one year for Cynthia + Peter.
At the No-One-Thought-We’d-Make-It-This-Long soiree, Lawrence — Sheree’s gay hairstylist — confronted Marlo about the use of the F-word that rhymes with maggots during her Sheree onslaught about an insignificant party. A word Marlo flat-out denied ever using and certainly not in South Africa.
“But it’s on camera!” I shouted at the TV.
A boom operator was standing behind her crazy butt as she yelled the slur. That woman is unbelievable. Sheree and Lawrence stared at her incredulously. I joined them.
It was time for a toast. A time for Cynthia and Peter to applaud their muted hostility, tolerance of one another and steely determination to prove everyone wrong.
Rather than make his toast about his loving wife Cynthia and their life together, Peter mocked Malorie. More concerned about dismissing and insulting Cynthia’s sister than a celebration of their love, Peter went after Mal with sophomoric quips.
Cheers!
And while some believe Mal is a little too concerned about Cynthia’s marriage and somewhat of a hater — others would call her a realist — the constant digs by Peter were in bad taste and unnecessary.
Mal left crying. Cynthia did not appreciate her causing a scene, as she saw it. And we’re left wondering when the “Next week, on the season finale…” announcement will finally come at the end of an episode.
This season is dragging … so much that it inspired me to adapt Langston Hughes' "Harlem" for our ladies.
Atlanta
What happens to a season with its ending deferred?
Does it dry up
like a wig in the sun?
Or fester like a sore —
And then run?
Does it stink like Marlo’s Louboutined feet?
Or crust and sugar over —
like a Kandi Factory sweet?
Maybe it just drags
like a heavy load.
Or do we just explode?