The Kitchen Shrink Read Online Free

fourth.
    “You would be so perfect for it! It’s not like all those other gross reality TV shows. You don’t have to rappel off a building, eat cow balls or hook up with anybody, unless you want to that is,” she laughed. “This is a good thing. It’s Martha Stewart meets home renovation meets Dr. Phil who hooks up with Dr. Laura Berman, but not in a sexual way,” she said, adding, “unless you want it to. Oh, Lisby. Look at you. You have been so down and you are such a great person. Come on, open yourself up and just try something new and get your house re-done, for free!”
    “Daria. In case you haven’t noticed. I’m in the middle of a not great life right now. Why in the world would I want to go on national television and air my dirty laundry? I just can’t understand people who do that. Or why they do that. You of all people know that my kids are at that rebellious stage. I have no idea what they’re going to do next. And I can’t do that to them, put them on TV, under the microscope of the whole voyeuristic world.”
    “Elizabeth, listen to me. This is a good thing. It could be the reality TV kick in the pants that you need. This really could be good therapy for you. And,” she megaphoned her hands around her mouth, “YOU CAN GET YOUR HOUSE FIXED UP FOR FREE!” Call us frustrated cheerleaders, we seem to holler at each other like that, a lot.
    “Have you not heard a word I said?” I asked her. “My kids call me Mrs. Moody Mean Jeans, it’s not like we have some lovely family tableau going on around here. In fact, there really is nothing interesting going on.” Nothing I want the public to see, I thought, remembering the hissy fit I had thrown that very morning when Nicole had tried to pass a whole jumbled laundry basket of clean clothes back down to me to be washed and folded. Again.
    “Well, there was something pretty interesting going on the other night,” Daria muttered under her breath, but loud enough I heard her all the same.
    “Thank you for winning my argument for me. Do you really think I want something like sleeping with the Martinator on TV?”
    “You said it was never going to happen again.”
    “Well, it’s not, I’m just saying, life is messy. No need to rub my nose in it. Trust me. My life would make for bad TV. I’m sure there are hundreds of people who would jump at the chance. I prefer to live my little life fucking up off screen, thank you very much.”
    “Lisby. Listen. There is nothing real about reality television. Just do it to get your house fixed up, meet some people, have some fun. Fun is what you are sorely lacking, my friend. I even think they want it to be a helpful, feel-good show.’”
    “Nice idea, but I know how it works. They want the drama. They catch me screaming at my kids for, oh, I don’t know, staying out all night and then they edit it making me look like a shrew going off the deep end and cut it to look like I freak out when my daughter asks me for a drink of water or something. “
    “Sure, they do have their tricks for creating a good storyline,” Daria agreed. “But this is different, it’s more a Do-It-Yourself show.”
    “Do what myself?” I snapped. “I’m not a construction worker. I’m not an actress, I don’t have big boobs, I wasn’t in a sex tape and I will never, ever understand Snookie, OK? There is absolutely nothing special about me. In fact, I can’t think of anyone else less likely to be in a reality series. So, just forget it. I can’t handle this right now. I have enough going on, you know, trying to work out my real life and real life problems without worrying about fake reality.”
    “Honey, I understand. Believe me, I do,” she countered. “Just think about it. Just meet the producers and let them explain how they want this to be different. This show is called “The Kitchen Shrink,” with the premise that if your life is messed up your house probably is, too, and by fixing up both, it becomes the ultimate