Notes From A Real Disabled Housewife To The Real Housewives of New York

Today I took my daughter out into the garden. She loves smelling the mint. We saw a black tailed swallowtail lay an egg on our lemon tree. I immediately retrieved it and put it in a mason jar with one of my daughter’s dresses as a lid.

You guys are prolly on a yacht.

But the fact that I am a cat lady (okay, caterpillar lady) is not our only difference. The main difference between you and I? YOU get to act absolutely insane because you’re not. There are so many kind hearted and wonderful people in my life who love me – but DAYUM do they hold me accountable. I take my pills at 8 every night, I get exercise every day, I see all of my therapists and doctors, I never skip meals. Dude, because I have PMDD, everyone — everyone — knows when my period is.

I watch you. You can do what I can not – totally freak out – without consequences. (Okay sometimes there are some consequences. But in comparison? One time I didn’t get enough sleep so I drank some coffee — just coffee! — and was accused of being manic.)

The actually insane, the truly disabled, cannot act “crazy.” We have to fall in line. I live vicariously through you.

Real Housewives dump vodka down their throats, sleep with oh-my-goodness-everyone, (especially Harry) and get in yelling matches at fancy restaurants. I mean, Ramona threw a GLASS at someone and busted her lip. If I did that I would be taken to the nearest psych ward as fast as possible. They would discuss my medication intake, all my thoughts and how often I was peeing.

So, go my beautiful creatures. Scream and drink and cry and fight. I will be watching, smiling, checking on the caterpillars, raising a glass of water to salute you.

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