Has anyone seen this new TV show on Bravo?
Miss Advised is a reality series about 3 single relationship experts who attempt to take their own advice as they dive headfirst into the world of dating. I happened to stumble across it the other night while I was casually surfing channels.
Okay…technically I was watching The Secret Life of the American Teenager, until Scott forced me to change the station.
I believe he mentioned something about me having the entertainment preferences of a 12-year-old girl.
Clearly, Secret Life is a show about teenagers….so I’d argue I’m at least, like, fourteen.
Scott and I were both quickly sucked into the latest episode of Miss Advised in which Amy, a relationship columnist living in New York, goes on an ice skating date in Bryant Park.
Here are the highlights:
Amy begins the evening by whining to her date about how much older she is than him and how insecure it makes her feel. She then informs him that she’s really glad they chose to go ice skating as at least she can burn some calories this way.
After skating for a while the couple goes indoors to order hot cocoa.
When a waiter arrives at their table with two glass mugs of hot chocolate, Amy gets a panicked look on her face.
“Ohhhh….” she says to the waiter, “Please don’t be mad at me…but….”
“Let me guess…you didn’t want the whipped cream, right?” the waiter cuts in. (Apparently, this is a common problem among New York women.)
“Yeah….I’m so sorry about that. Do you mind getting me another one? Okay, thanks.”
I’m sorry…has she never heard of scraping the whipped cream off with a spoon?
A few minutes later, the server returns with her low-fat beverage. Her date then suggests ordering a few appetizers off the menu to share. Perhaps the chicken pot pie?
Judging by the look on her face, you’d think he’s suggested they get matching neck tattoos. Amy’s expression goes from shocked, to frightened, to fake happy-happy-nice-nice.
“Ohhhh….hehe…that’s so…uh…cute.” she mutters between forced giggling.
“What? The chicken pot pie?” her date responds with confusion and possibly concern.
“Yeah…I mean….I don’t know. That’s just so heavy, don’t you think? Chicken pot pie is like…something you would eat, but not really something I would eat.”
At this point, I wanted to jump through the screen and remind this skinny brat that it was snowing outside–chicken pot pie would not only be completely appropriate for the cold winter weather, it would also be quite delicious.
The camera then cuts to a shot of her in the testimonial booth, sharing her true feelings.
“Eww…I mean…gross. Do you think he could pick something any more artery clogging?”
At this point, Scott had just about enough. “She’s not concerned about her arteries,” he griped, “She’s concerned about her thighs.”
“If you paid attention during the ice skating scene, you would realize she doesn’t actually have thighs.” I added.
Just then, the camera cuts back to Amy’s low-carb date. The handsome, charming and extremely patient man she’s dining with asks her a question about work.
“I don’t know…I’m just trying not to think about how many calories I’m drinking right now.”
I couldn’t take it any more.
“Okay, seriously!” I yelled, “How is this woman an advice columnist??? She’s completely delusional! I mean…I totally get counting calories, and I wouldn’t have wanted the whipped cream either…but at a certain point you have to be more concerned about not looking crazy than you are about your calorie limit. Does she not realize she’s exhibiting total red-flag behavior? I mean…after you’ve been dating a few years? Sure! Send the cocoa back! But on a first date? Suck it up and eat the extra calories!!!”
At this point, my face was beet-red, and I was dangerously close to popping a blood vessel. I’d imagine this is how most men feel when their team loses the Super Bowl in the last play on a bad call.
“I hope they bring her a huge chicken pot pie covered in whipped cream.” I said between short, shallow breaths before continuing my rant.
“I mean…if she can be a relationship columnist in freaking NEW YORK CITY, then I’m practically qualified to teach Biology.”
“You are absolutely not qualified to teach Biology.” Scott tenderly pointed out.
“That is exactly my point!” I screeched. “These people are so hypocritical! How can anyone with even an ounce of common sense value the contradictory advice they are pedaling?”
Scott shut off the television, took a deep breath, and faced me square on.
“Katrina,” he explained, “It’s human nature to say one thing and do another. I would go so far as to say that the majority of the population doesn’t take their own advice. Take you for example. You’re a fitness instructor, yet it’s 9:30 at night, and you’re on your third bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. What would the people who take your classes say about that?”
“Yeah…but it’s organic Cinnamon Toast Crunch.” I scoffed.
What? It totally was.
He simply rolled his eyes and turned the TV back on. Normally, I would have begged him to just change it back to Secret Life, but I was too busy realizing that much like Amy, the calorie counting enemy of all things delicious, I was a total hypocrite.
But at least I’m the type of hypocrite who gets to eat whipped cream.