Kathryn melts down at the polo match
You could chalk up my silence last week to an existential crisis of sorts. I made the mistake of watching that episode four times before starting to write. Four.
I do not recommend this. You'll be left as sad as a knock-off Birkin bag filled with silk caftans and Lily Pulitzer dresses, smothered in white-privileged-male jizz.
So what happened on last week's episode to leave me empty and dead inside? Not much, I tell you. Cameran's printer was out of ink, and she hosted a party. Kathryn and T-Rav weren't invited.
Kathryn hates everyone and is desperate to move out of her parents' plantation house in Moncks Corner.
T-Rav is hiding behind the law and justifying his lack of "spousal" support to Kathryn. He pays $2500 a month in child support and he doesn't even have to do that. I love how this guy uses the government to conveniently support his moral bankruptcy.
Landon is finding life post-divorce difficult and confusing, but she has like six business ideas, none of which will support the life she was once accustomed to living in the Hollywood Hills.
Craig stroked a check for $15 grand to JD Madison in order to get a piece of his Gentry Bourbon business. #NewCraig
Patricia will come to your stupid dinner party, but she'll bring her own butler with her, thank you very much.
I'm pretty sure that's all that "happened" last week. I can't bear to rewind and watch that episode again, so let's move on to this week's installment of Southern Charm.
Crap. Hold on. I have to rewind and watch it again. I had to gird myself against the void by getting a little bit high before tuning in last night. Luckily, it worked, but I can't remember a damn thing that happened.
Ah, that's right. Not much. People woke up. #NewCraig shellacked his hair into place with Naomie's hairspray and headed off to work. Shep FaceTimed with his mama from his new palace in the East Side (insert gangster sign here), and Cameran popped in for a quick visit to discover that Shep is just dicking around, per üge (that's shorthand for per usual). Cameran pitches him on selling real estate, and he decides to partner up with Cam once he learns that there might be some early mornings. Good thinking. Cam can take the morning appointments, Shep can take the midnight showings.
A disturbing theme has emerged this season. Instead of the man-children, who are getting their shit together thanks to good editing, we focus this time on the women, who spend their time looking stupid, useless, and desperate, lorded over by the imperial she-witch Patricia Altschul, whose dead husbands conveniently left her a fortune from which she perches atop, silk caftan elegantly arrayed, ice-cold martini in hand, and spews venom, mostly in Kathryn's direction.
Speaking of that basket of mental health issues, she shows up at T-Rav's to beg and cry for him to cosign a rental home for her and their children. Oh the indignity of the choices we make in life.
Last week, we had Cameran cluelessly trying to learn to be a hostess, a skill she'll need as a rich doctor's wife in her Mt. Pleasant McMansion. Cut to this week, and we see just how effortlessly fabulous it is for Pat to throw a party. All she has to do is think flamingos and a party planner shows up to execute her vision. Your wish ... his demand. Yada yada yada. Money — it's a wonderful drug.
And then there's Landon. She plays some golf with her Daddy, who comes up to Charleston for a visit. She tells him she wants to open a members-only bourbon bar and start an online magazine for gentleman of leisure and ladies who lunch (isn't there already one called Garden and Gun
?). Pick one idea, says Daddy. "You can't live off your dreams."
She breaks it down to the camera: "Some days I feel like I can conquer the world. Other days I can't get out of bed. I'm just trying the best I can."
Welcome to adulthood, Landon. Responsibilities, obligations, and the pressure to succeed totally suck. Unless you're Shep and you can figure out how to eschew all the bullshit and just have a good time.
I think I just hit upon the ultimate narrative of this show. Shep is the ideal: He's rich, smart, good-looking, gets laid all the time, laughs a lot, and doesn't feel one goddamn iota of guilt about it. He's living like a sugar baby without having to suck dick. Last season, Shep's bonhomie brought Craig to the brink of destruction. But Craig seems to have recovered and is racing headlong into an anti-Shep version of adulthood. He's got a girlfriend, a job, and now he's ring shopping. I'm not sure I want to see him take the next step. #NewCraig blows. Bring back the shenanigans!
At this point in the episode, we're just waiting for this frickin' polo match we've been seeing previews of for two weeks. News flash: Kathryn loses her shit again. Can't wait. But first, let's watch T-Rav grovel at Pat's feet. You see, Katy-Did didn't get an invite to the flamingo party, and T-Rav is so desperate to keep this crazy bitch appeased he'll find the biggest candle in all the land and deposit at the feet of the she-witch as an offering. Please Evil Queen, let the Evil-Queen-in-training come to your party.
No fucking chance. You could carve a life-size castle into the side of a candle mountain and Pat still wouldn't relent. It's her party, and she'll invite who she wants to.
Finally, the polo match is here! But first, Jennifer picks up K-Did in her Maserati. The two gals proceed to strap the baby into the fancy car, which depletes Kathryn's happy units. She only has hate units left for the rest of the day. Uh-oh.
Two hours later, after some chitchat about Kathryn's big plans for spending some time at Brookland (T-Rav's plantation) and not Brooklyn (hipster central), they get to the polo match. Holy shit. There are spectators! WTF? This will not do.
Actually, it's only T-Rav's BFF's and Kensie's godparents: JD and Elizabeth, who've not been keeping in touch closely enough with Kathryn. So she FUH-REEKS out. Which gets stretched out to about 20 minutes with several commercial breaks to show basically that Kathryn's crazy. After seeing the Madisons' alleged fakery (a.k.a. loving on their god-baby), she grabs her baby — er, rather, she tells the nanny to grab the baby — and they drive away, leaving a sweaty T-Rav to holler into the void: "Where's my baby!? Where's my baby!??"
Coming up next week:
The wrath of T-Rav. When you mess with the bull, you get the horns. Unless, of course, you go to the hospital. Then you get some money and a cosigner on your lease.