The Real Housewives

These women don’t mess around with spray tans and bad nachos, no sir. Even though only one of them is actually a housewife (and a Countess!), while the rest have jobs, they all definitely know how to take care of themselves. In fact, they discuss the importance of taking care of yourself almost constantly, advising each other “Take care of yourself!” and “The most important thing is to take care of you!” over and over, whether that’s done by a) purchasing wildly expensive fashions, b) having a girl’s night out, b) getting spa treatments, c) flying off to Miami to stay at your friend’s luxury hotel after a break-up, or d) ditching a dinner party that’s bringing you down. Most of the time, sadly, “taking care of yourself” seems to involve spending ungodly amounts of money.

Which brings us to last night’s finale: Housewife (and businesswoman) Jill is throwing a big fancy get-together dinner, and all the other Housewives and their families are invited. It’s fun to celebrate (and take care of yourself!) by blowing lots of money, after all, and Jill needs to make up for her last dinner party, when Housewife (and businesswoman) Ramona not only exited early, she made Housewife (and graphic designer) Alex and her husband, Simon, extremely uncomfortable by brashly accusing Simon of crashing their all-girl dinner.

Although Ramona was right about Simon and Alex, who are hopelessly codependent, her behavior was pretty rude, even by a regular, non-aristocratic human’s standards. Jill’s been friends with Ramona for a while, but she has mixed feelings about her. “Ramona’s always hot and cold,” Jill told the camera at the start of the finale. “I mean, you just never know which Ramona you’re going to get, Ramona or Rameana.”

In truth, it’s tough to know which Jill and which Bethenny and which Alex you’re going to get at any given moment, either. Take LuAnn, the only Housewife who’s actually a housewife — if you can possibly use that word to describe someone who seems to spend most of her time socializing. A tall, attractive brunette with a great figure, nice taste and a surprisingly good sense of humor, LuAnn married rich, but something tells us that she’s never in her life been too far from big piles of money, the kind of dusty money that gets handed down from generation to generation until no living members of the family have ever sullied their manicures by, say, fixing themselves a sandwich. LuAnn regularly leaves her kids at home with the nanny while she hits the town in her Upper East Side trying-to-be-funky outfits and sips cocktails until she feels young and hip again. Even so, it’s obvious that she spends a lot of time with her children. While some mothers might feel a little sadness in their hearts when they see LuAnn’s young son begging her to stay home for taco night, what I think is “Get out the door before he gets his grubby fingers on your pretty coat, lady!”

Oh, except that if I called LuAnn “lady,” it would definitely send a shiver down her spine. That’s the puzzle of LuAnn: One minute she’s describing how she spent her weekend picking lice out of her kids’ hair, the next minute she’s so shocked and appalled at the inappropriateness of someone’s behavior, you’d think she was the Queen of England. In last week’s episode, LuAnn instructed Bethenny to introduce her to the driver as “Mrs. de Lesseps” instead of simply “LuAnn,” presumably because the help should always show their respect (and demonstrate their inferiority?) by referring to her like she’s their fifth-grade math teacher.

But then, all of the so-called Housewives are very, very big on the rules of What’s Appropriate and What’s Simply Not Appropriate. “I was shocked,” they say of each other’s behavior repeatedly, referring to a vocal argument with a spouse or an unfinished, scrappy-looking townhouse or an impromptu intimate conversation as if it signifies, once and for all, the inferior class and poor breeding of the party in question. LuAnn is offended when Ramona implies that models are brainless and uneducated (LuAnn was once a model!), Jill is offended when Ramona doesn’t invite her to a party (But LuAnn was there!), Bethenny cries, “Totally inappropriateness!” when her father’s friend gives her lingerie as a gift, and on and on and on.

Of course, the non-stop backstabbing is what makes the New York Housewives so special. They aren’t just “bummed” or “psyched” like the dimwits of Orange County, they actually analyze each other’s faults with some degree of intelligence. “She uses her brutal honesty to cover her pain,” Jill says of Bethenny, which is almost as biting as Bethenny’s assessment of Alex: “I think Alex overcompensates for insecurity by being pretentious.”

For all of their expertise on etiquette and psychoanalysis, though, none of the Housewives can quite agree which of the offenses and personality disorders they encounter are the most serious. Is it worse to yell at your husband in front of a crowd (Ramona), or to invite people over to your half-finished townhouse (Alex)? Is it worse to focus too much on material wealth (Jill) or to pretend that you’re above “things” while you tour $3 million apartments (Bethenny)?

They do know exactly where they stand in the New York City caste system, however. Alex obviously sees herself as socially ascendant, and she seems to view rising in the social ranks as a highly entertaining but difficult sport with defeats (arriving too late for the pre-opening-night cocktails at the Met) and victories (appearing in the New York Times Style section the next morning) along the way.

Meanwhile, LuAnn obviously feels, as a Countess, her rank in the world is indisputable, and despite her elitist pickiness about how people address her, her confidence with her status shows in the fact that she’s generally a little less petty and more generous in describing the other Housewives. Jill also seems certain of her standing but is more easily outraged by the others, while Bethenny is more focused on promoting herself and her business (she’s a natural foods chef) than on her social rank, but she also loses her temper more often than the rest.

All of these strange motives and dynamics are in play at Jill’s fancy dinner party, of course. Ramona seems apprehensive about the party beforehand, and tells her friends that her “frankness” caused problems but she aims to “make it up to everyone.” Cut to the dinner party, where Ramona arrives one hour late. Jill is appalled yet again, but Alex doesn’t mind. “Ramona seems like she’s trying to be nice, so that’s fine,” says Alex. “I don’t believe in holding grudges.”

So Ramona promptly starts in on Alex, grilling her on what she did while Simon was in Australia for nine days for his stepfather’s funeral. “What do you do for entertainment? Are you allowed to go out with women then? Are you allowed to have a girls’ night? Or do you have to get a permission slip from him?”

The other Housewives look horrified. Bethenny says to the camera, “This week, on an all new ‘Ramona Tortures Alex For Being Codependent’!”

Alex admits that she never went out. She has two young kids at home, after all, and she says that every night she was so exhausted, she just sat on the couch with a cocktail, alone. Ramona says to the camera, “To me, that’s strange.” Ah, but darling, to the rest of the world, that’s life.

Now we’re completely on board with Alex and Simon, ready to forgive them all of their codependent, snotty, upwardly mobile trespasses… until their son Francois, who’s 4 years old, starts playing with Bethenny’s boyfriend Jason’s hamburger as he’s trying to eat it. Francois’s parents stand by as he rips the hamburger to shreds, and say nothing to him.

“Jason, you have sons, don’t you?” Simon asks Jason as Simon’s son repeatedly stabs a fork into Jason’s dinner until it’s unrecognizable. Jason says yes, to which Simon replies, “So you know the story.” Well, now we know Simon’s story, anyway.

And so the finale of “The Real Housewives of New York City” ends the same way it began: With the viewers at home wondering which of these sometimes charming, sometimes obnoxious, incredibly wealthy women is the most insane of them all. Which will we get, gracious LuAnn or snotty LuAnn, helpful Jill or resentful Jill, witty Bethenny or nasty Bethenny? Do we hate these terrible women or do we love them, and which of them do we love/hate the most?

I guess we’ll have wait until next season to find out. If only we could just shop and get our toenails painted until then.

* * * * For more coverage of the season finales of your favorite TV shows, click here.

In fact, switching back and forth between AMC’s upcoming zombie apocalypse “The Walking Dead,” (premieres 10 p.m. Sunday, Oct. 31) and Bravo’s latest installation in the “Real Housewives” franchise, it’s tough to say which specter of dystopian despair chills me to the bone more completely. Here we have a zombie, cut off at the torso, dragging itself through the grass like a fish. But over here, we have Camille, Kelsey Grammer’s wife, who has four nannies, 17 acres and a private jet, but still needs to “get a little attention” for herself, according to her husband. Here we have a chained door with the words “Dead Inside, Do Not Open” written across it. Over here, though, we find Kim, a worried-looking mom who confesses that she doesn’t have a life outside of her children. Here we have a drooling, plodding zombie with dead eyes, throwing itself into the path of danger just for a taste of human flesh. But over here, we encounter Taylor, a leggy blonde who says, “I was almost envious, in some respects, of people who were content in living the middle-class lifestyle that they had. It would’ve been much easier not to have such enormous aspirations. It’s a lot of pressure.”

These teetering bubble-boobed zombies are their own worst enemies, you see. They sometimes wish that they were just lumpy and average and sat around in their soft pants eating jalapeno poppers and watching “Oprah” like the rest of the gals they knew back in high school. Life would be so much simpler, if only they had never been afflicted by the Bimbola virus, passed along when you spot a bubble-boobed zombie on the street somewhere, and instead of running for your life (like a normal person might), you think, “I have shiny, long hair, too. Why am I not filthy rich like that starving sea donkey getting into that Aston Martin over there?” “I was a child star, and everyone loved me. Now that I’m older, why don’t I get tons of attention from strangers, like Carmen Electra does?” “I have an anxiety disorder, an eating disorder and a compulsive personality. So why can’t I afford a pair of $3,000 hooker stilettos?”

Once the virus sets in, all hope is lost. You may not have a hunger for reality TV shows about idle rich people, but if you’ve watched lots of zombie movies, then you already know a lot about “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills”:

1. They’re agonizing to watch. Whether they’re dragging their feet across the ground, moaning, their eyes rolling back in their heads, or fidgeting through a dinner with their dismissive, high-roller husbands, Real Housewife zombies are torturous to endure onscreen – and that’s the point, really. Just as the appeal of zombies lies in their uncanny knack for creating suspense and dread, for sticking their dead fingers through little cracks in the barely open window or lurking in the pitch-black basement, the appeal of Real Housewife zombies lies in their ability to systematically destroy everything around them, using only their tumultuous emotions, their weak ego boundaries and their misguided attempts at fame-seeking. Like the undead, they won’t sleep until the world is in flames and the few remaining surviving non-zombies are crouching in their hidey holes, weeping into their hands, begging for mercy from this plague of terror – or at the very least, watching their show on Bravo.

2. They’re not human. Not really. The truly challenging thing about zombies is that you feel like you should have empathy for them, but you just don’t. Shooting zombie women and zombie children in the face in zombie movies might bring a tinge of guilt, but it’s necessary if you’re going to avoid getting eaten alive. In fact, one of the real joys of zombie movies is that they afford a rare opportunity to detest other humanlike nonhumans with impunity. Similarly, the “Real Housewife” franchise presents gaggles of humanlike women who, upon closer inspection, aren’t really human at all. Look closely at them. Stare into their eyes. Remember Linda Hamilton in “Terminator” (huge neck, sinewy arms)? Now think of Pamela Anderson (sculpted, Botoxed tigress face, plumped up lips) and Bruce Jenner (plastic, unmoving features that approximate his boyish self the way a figure in a wax museum might). It’s hard to empathize with a Madame puppet, isn’t it? This unnatural, plastic quality makes the Real Housewife zombies easier to hate – which is, after all, the whole point.

3. They’re starving. But do they crave a triple cheeseburger, or a hunk of your flesh? Who can tell? The only thing that’s clear is that these Real Housewife zombies are absolutely famished, and it’s making them very, very anxious. Why else would Kim, an unmarried mom already struggling to raise four kids, talk wistfully about wanting another baby? “Babies bring so much joy to a home,” she says, as if she’s talking about a new vase of flowers or an in-ground swimming pool. And how else could Camille Grammer imagine that appearing on a zombie reality show presents “an opportunity for me to show that I’m my own person”? With deranged comments like these floating around, you have to remember: These are women who spend most of their time off-camera running on treadmills or struggling through kickboxing workouts or jogging through their enormous estates with their personal trainers. They’re delirious with hunger, and that makes them unpredictable — just ask the mob of zombies who eat a horse alive in “The Walking Dead.” Thankfully, most zombies are very slow-moving (except for NYC Housewife zombie Bethenny Frankel, of course, and that’s why she’s scarier than those speedy undead bastards from “28 Days Later”).

4. They’d eat your face off for a chance at superstardom. Some scientists have theorized that the Bimbola virus actually infects small girls at a young age, via Disney princess movies. Once young ladies are inflicted with this virus, they spend every second imagining themselves the belle of every ball, imagining that their entire success in life hinges on the spotlight hitting their glittery gowns at just the right angle to catch Prince Charming’s (or the 18-49 demographic’s) fancy. While in the early stages, the virus creates a crippling compulsion to twirl and twirl and twirl in front of the mirror, humming, “So this is love, hmmm, so this is love!”, as the virus matures and mutates, it creates other side effects, like an urge to flat-iron your hair or wear leopard prints. Although milder cases resolve by early adulthood, severe sufferers find themselves seeking out the spotlight, no matter what the cost, through their 30s and 40s, whether that means wearing size 2 booty pants to PTA meetings or letting the nanny tuck the kids into bed while they wait in long lines behind velvet ropes to get into nightclubs where other afflicted souls wander, their eyes full of empty longing. The bottom line is that Real Housewife zombies would rip your arm out of its socket and ingest it in a few minutes flat, if that could guarantee them an invite to P. Diddy’s mansion or a guest appearance on some terrible talk radio show. (No, the undead don’t exactly aim high.)

5. They show no mercy. In a related note, the more driven to become perfect and famous and special the zombie housewives are, the more dangerous they become – even to their friends and family. Just listen to zombie housewife Kyle talking about her sister, Kim. “Kim has really made her kids so much the focus of her life that she doesn’t have a lot of great girlfriends. She’s very isolated.” “Kim has always been a big spender … She definitely has an issue with spending.” “Kim is a very codependent person.” At the end of the episode, Kyle confesses that when her mother was on her deathbed, she made Kyle promise that she’d look after poor Kim, but sometimes Kyle thinks she’s going to have to break her promise. Could a living, breathing member of the human race say something so condescending about her own sister in front of a national TV audience? Of course not. Zombies are foul, unforgiving creatures that should be avoided at all costs – except when you can observe them from a safe distance (and cringe and giggle and sneer, then toss and turn in bed all night).

6. There are no happy endings here. Things will end badly for zombies and Real Housewife zombies alike, no matter what. And even though you know that these zombies will destroy everything in their paths, self-destruct, decompose slowly, or all of the above, you still can’t look away. When Taylor says that there are hot girls everywhere to tempt her venture capitalist husband (“Like, oh lord, he’s gonna leave me for a 20-year-old!”) and then she lays out her exit strategy (“I don’t want to put myself in a position where I don’t have the ability to care for myself, in the event that one of these days, you know, the younger better thing comes along. And … you know, things happen!”), it’s just like that scene in every zombie movie where the unseeing zombie walks straight into an axe-wielding hero. Taylor’s husband is as good as gone. Why bother getting painful filler injections (as Taylor does in the first episode) to look younger, when you’re already convinced that random 20-somethings on the street will appeal to your husband more than you do? We know Taylor is going down, and we’re going to have to witness every torturous moment of self-doubt and self-annihilation along the way.

Of course, thanks to the tabloids, we know that Camille Grammer is going down, too. But how many other innocent souls will she take down with her? We won’t know that until the last terrible screams ring out and the final credits roll. Only one thing is for certain: This show will give you nightmares.