Over at Peggy’s house, she was sitting down to film a segment for a documentary about postpartum depression. She talked about having suicidal feelings during and after her pregnancies and how her husband and mother-in-law eventually had to stage an intervention to get her to use vitamins and magic slap bracelets to cure it. And really, whatever helps is great, but Peggy and her mother-in-law are not medical experts and I hope that she doesn’t persuade anyone who’s suffering to forgo therapy or medication in favor of relying on a glittery slap bracelet hooked up to some old lady’s laptop.
Major clinical depression is a serious illness, and you can’t treat it with magic and a heaping helping of B vitamins. Implying that it’s safe to deal with suicidal thoughts that way is nothing less than dangerous, and her husband should have stepped in to get her to a doctor instead of listening to his dingbat mother. Got some dry skin? Sure, try and cure it with vitamins and holograms and positive thinking. Want to kill yourself? Maybe you should be doing a little bit more. Since Peggy is clearly not well yet, I find it even more surprising that her husband agree to have the family on a reality show.
Back in Cabo, Vicki and Tamra were headed to dinner, where Vicki sought out more hotel employees (this time, it was an unsuspecting waiter) to tell all about how Tamra was a bad friend last year. Once the waiter had been sufficiently freaked out and left to fetch alcohol, Vicki told Tamra that she wanted her to write an essay about what she values in a friendship and read it to her in a beachside ceremony the next day. The request seemed entirely serious and without the tiniest note of irony or sarcasm, which means that we can all mark off “friendship contract” on our Official Real Housewives Bingo Cards.
As if that wasn’t enough insanity for one meal, Vicki suddenly realized that the Caesar salad she had ordered contained fish and gagged. I’m assuming that Vicki has had a caeser salad in the past, and caeser dressing always contains anchovy paste, so it’s not that Vicki doesn’t like fish, she just doesn’t like the idea of fish. In fact, she doesn’t like it so much that she started gagging and shaking like a dog about to puke.
Over in Gretchen’s neck of the woods, she sat down with her totally creepy dad to listen to him make gross jokes at the waitress and tell her that Slade’s kind of a slimeball. He might be a creeper, but he’s a correct creeper, eh? Takes one to know one, I suppose. Gretchen wanted his permission to have children out of wedlock with Slade and I’m not sure that she really got it, but if she’s a grown woman who wants to have a kid and she has the income to support one (whether or not she does is a discussion for a different day), then why ask your parents for permission? Would they disown her if she got pregnant in her 30s?
What else Lady Gaga dare not to do? This time, she wrote some Japanese on her sumptuous and extravagant Hermes Birkin bag when her Monster Ball tour in Japan. 