Dear Bravo Andy,
We have been in a relationship for a while now. Like most imaginary relationships that I have with gay men on TV, and well the Internet, we’ve had our ups and downs. But over the years, I feel our relationship has deepened. Clearly, I love you. From your wonky eyes down to your lower half which may or may not have a health issue. I love your cute little catchphrases from “Here’s what”, which I have adapted into my own vernacular , to “Mazel!”, which as a southern girl raised in a Baptist family I find less genuine when I attempt it. I even find your peppiness endearing. But lately I find myself not liking me when we are together
I’m starting to feel like something is just not quite right with our relationship. Maybe it is because we are spending more time together now that you have been picked up for five nights a week. I’m used to having more time on my own. Also, now that I am a rich and famous blogger of international significance, I am spending a lot of time researching for my blog. I know, you call it digging into your secrets but honestly, Andrew, if God didn’t want me snooping into the deep dark crevices of my paramours both real and imaginary, he would not have allowed Al Gore to invent the Internet. God knows me. I do not resist temptation well. I am, as C.S. Lewis would describe me, a daughter of Eve.
So here’s what. I’m just going to be honest here, I feel like you’ve become a metaphoric drug dealing boyfriend for me. At first, I loved the feeling that I got when we were together. At first being with you was like smoking a bit of pot. I would lose my inhibitions for a bit and then, because pot has always just made me sleepy with a hankering for junk food, crash after demolishing a bag of crunchy Cheetos. But you, knowing me well and seeing that pot just was not the drug for me, offered me a line of cocaine. I sucked it all up and wanted more. Look at me, I am beautiful and together, Andrew! Let’s cuddle on the couch and mock the Real Housewives of New Jersey! I am so much better than they are. Just look at them, and look at me! You are so much fun Andrew! Let’s stay up all night watching the reruns over and over! Let’s blog about them and maybe drive up to New Jersey and sit outside their big ole houses and laugh and laugh!! Um, let’s do that tomorrow because….Andrew, put your hand on my heaving bosoms. Does my heart feel like it is racing to you? Do you think I need to go to the hospital? What was in that stuff Andrew? I finally slept and woke up feeling ashamed and guilty. What on earth were we thinking? This is not the eighties.
That was when things began to get awkward. I’m a nice girl, Andrew. Without your wonky eyes and boyish grin encouraging me I would never have done what we did. But I love you. And now that your show, the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills is spiraling to the depths of hell in the last few episodes, I feel compelled, because you are my love, to watch it with you. But there are dirty needles and meth and heroin all lying around. This is not the relationship that we have, Andrew. Maybe it is all the metaphoric drugs but I’m starting to feel anxious and confused and suspicious of you now. I don’t think my mama would approve of our current relationship. It makes me feel ashamed and dirty.
So Andrew, here is what I need from you to continue with our relationship. I need shows that don’t exploit women. I need things to go back to the way things were when we met. Roble & Co. is a good example of what I am looking for. Jasmine Ali is the most refreshing thing you have brought into our relationship in a long time. She’s healthy and organic and makes me feel good about myself. If our relationship is to continue we need more of that and a less poisonous programming. Can you do that for me Andrew? Because, if you can’t get me through this, I may be forced to leave you and check into a fancy rehab center on your dime. I don’t want that, Andrew. I want you to fix us.