by Valerie Nusbaum

Your friend Randy has decided that it would be a great idea for us to star in our own reality television show. He thinks that having a camera crew follow us around all day, every day, would make for some terrific TV. I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. First, because the people from Hollywood wouldn’t consider us interesting enough, and second, I’m not doing that.

No way do I want someone documenting my every move and conversation. Can you imagine what that would be like? I’d be getting sued every week for saying something politically incorrect, not to mention the fact that my appearance first-thing in the morning would scare off the crew.

Since the hubby isn’t going to get his own show, he says that he’ll settle for getting a slot on an already existing program. Randy likes Survivor, and he’s pretty sure he could make it the entire thirty-nine days out in the wild, even though he’d be the “old” guy on the tribe. He can make fire. I know this because he yells at the TV when the show is on and calls the contestants bad names when they can’t do anything right. Randy can hunt and fish, so he’d be responsible for feeding his tribe. That’s an important job because the tribe members need to eat to keep up their strength. The only drawback that I can see to Randy being on Survivor would come during the episode where the family members visit. I don’t think any of Randy’s family would show up. I know I certainly don’t want to travel halfway around the world to spend the night in some hovel, filled with dirty, stinky people, even if one of them is my husband. I can sleep with him at home when he’s dirty and stinky if I want to, but I don’t. There’s also that whole “eat a bug” thing. Contestants’ family members are usually put on the spot in some kind of challenge to win a reward. I’m not eating any bugs, nor am I eating any intestines or other gross animal parts that are considered delicacies in other parts of the world.  That’s not gonna happen; therefore, Randy would lose the game.

With Survivor no longer an option, my dear husband has decided that we should team up for The Amazing Race. Unfortunately, there are disgusting eating contests on that show, too; as stated before, I draw the line at eating things I’m not familiar with. I also don’t want to do any of the water challenges, and I am scared to death of heights. Randy has my blessing to find another partner for this show, but he seems to think that him going off with Steve or Andrew for several weeks defeats the purpose of us becoming reality stars together. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to allow my husband’s dreams to come true. Plus, I’d get a whole month of “me” time, and I could take baths in my tub and sleep in my own bed.

We can’t become contestants on either The Amazing Race or The Voice because neither of us can sing. Dancing With the Stars should exclude us due to the fact that neither of us is a star; although, in recent seasons of that show, the actual stars have been few and far between, so we might actually stand a chance of making the cast. Randy is a pretty good dancer, but don’t ask him to do the tango. Seriously.

American Ninja Warrior would be the ultimate challenge. We both love that show. The problem is that the only way we’d make it there is if the producers were looking for two really old and rickety examples of what not to do.

We could try out for Naked and Afraid, but I’m afraid to be naked and there’s that whole dirt and bugs thing again.

This leaves us with the Real Housewives franchise. If Andy Cohen ever comes to Thurmont and puts out a call for auditions, I’m all in. Can’t you just picture it? A real housewives show with REAL women! There’d be no swanky parties, no hair and makeup people, and no jets or limousines.  Instead, I and the other “housewives” would get together and discuss our very real problems, while we shopped for groceries and put gas in our cars. We’d go to work, and then we’d go to dinner at Mountain Gate and eat real food with nary a drop of alcohol in sight. When the name-calling and hair-pulling commenced, we couldn’t blame it on intoxication. The best part is that Randy would love being a trophy husband. Sadly, I don’t see “The Real Housewives of Thurmont” happening any time soon, even though a lot of my friends and neighbors have the potential to become overnight sensations.

My only other option is to relent and make a real reality show with Randy. My vision is of the cameraman being set up behind our couch, filming the backs of our heads as we watch television and make fun of everyone on the “reality” shows. I think it could work.

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