If you are a fan of Bravo's Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and happen to adore, pity or otherwise be enchanted by cast member Camille Grammer, do not read any further. I find her vile, to such a degree that I have a difficult time watching the show without hurling a diatribe of insults at the TV screen, to the background of questions from my husband as why it is I keep watching if I seem to hate it so much.
In the wake of her July 2010 divorce, and in anticipation of Thursday night's episode, it seems the tart is making the usual press rounds. I can scarcely contain myself when commercials for tomorrow's episode air, in light of Camille's psychotic physic predicting the demise of marriages around her, yet not uttering a word about the impending failure of her dear friend's nuptials, and the 'boulders' Camille throws inside her glass house. Again, I've been trying to rise above the petty, but every now and then, a romp through the mud is a necessary therapy akin to a trip to the spa or a sale at Barneys (where they really don't sell maternity clothes anyway).
Had the Grammers been married in New York, Camille would be entitled to half the pot (bless equal division of the assets) given the lack of a prenup (did Kelsey lack a good lawyer in his Rolodex 13 years years ago?). Seemingly, California divorce laws are on par as settlement rumors swirl. Amidst such reports of a $50 million settlement, I'm sure Mr. Grammer is kicking himself with his Prada loafers. Tune in tomorrow at 10 if you need a good cathartic release!