Hey everybody. It’s after 2 a.m. I have to fly to my hometown tomorrow. And as they say it has been a full day today. So I’m going to forego the usual lengthy introductory diatribe this week, but rest assured that I wrap everything up in a big, schmaltzy bow at the end of this week’s recap.
We start out this week at Naomie’s new office where she sells clothes online. She Facetimes her parents who are in Nice (pronounced “Neece”) where they say the weather is nice (like “”ice”). Language is fun.
Business is booming, but what’s this? Naomie’s dad asks if she’s ready for Friday. Where could this episode be headed? Is that perhaps a real make-or-break day for the business? Is there some Parisian mime Olympics happening in Nice that the family is super caught up in?
Wait, nope. It’s just another social gathering that actually doesn’t play a vital role in this week’s episode. Now it’s time to see a man about a dog.
We then join Chelsea, who last week was terrified that her party guests might not use enough coasters in her newly remodeled home, but then proceeded to give all the drunk people hammers to play with. Might as well dare your guests to do the Leatherface chainsaw dance in your mudroom there, Chels. Handing out hammers is one step up from declaring that the yard is a toilet, in terms of homeowner management.
Anyway, Chelsea’s dad is returning her dog. With more than a touch of whimsy, her dad bought the dog a baguette-sized bone to violently and desperately crunch on for the rest of the month. What shenanigans have these two been up to over the past 24 hours? I want to see a show where a cooler version of Jimmy Buffett pet sits at the beach. He could sing a song called something like “The Dog Days of Summer” or “Beach Bitch Blues.”
The dog could gather driftwood and they could make designer bongs out of it. Like, the dog is stoned too, but it’s cool because it’s the dog’s decision. Or if we wait a few years, Harmony Korine will make a movie with this exact same plot to close out his Salt Life trilogy.
Chelsea’s dad then begins to DTR with Chelsea and her new boyfriend who is a competitive sailor signed to a three-year contract. In my day, we called competitive sailors “pirates,” but scurvy really changed the whole culture. Too many exes on too many maps, if you know what I mean.
Chelsea says their plan is for her man at sea to move in with her after his racing contract expires, but her father asks why she is always drawn to unmoored men. Chelsea can’t really answer this question, but it really ties in with my conclusion to this week’s column. It’s really a beautiful message addressing the human fear of self-defeat and I hope you read to the end to catch the moral. In all honesty, my reviewing Southern Charm is akin to some post-apocalyptic survivor trying to fashion remnants of a once-proud civilization into a record player or something like that.
Jumping over to Cameran, we see her returning home from showing a house. In a sign of pure hubris, the new mother is wearing a pristine white blazer just waiting to be adorned with a camouflage of baby vomit and shit.
On her drive, Cameran calls her husband, who asks if Cameran’s mom is watching the baby. Cameran’s eyes then glaze over, all audio in the scene becomes increasingly muffled as the squeal of violin stings rises and the camera zooms in on her blank, yet knowing expression.
Not really. The baby is fine and with its grandmother.
Cameran soon arrives home and whips out a bottle of vodka. Her mother enters the kitchen and says she would like a “vodka drink” as well, because we all order drinks like we’re “Tubthumping” with Chumbawamba. Cameran denies her mother this simple indulgence because she is watching the baby. But, come on, Cameran. Your mother is of the generation that could effectively enjoy a drink and a cigarette, while balancing two kids on each hip and slapping a fresh coat of lead-based paint on the nursery room walls.
Cameran’s mother asks if she drinks every day when she gets home from work. Cameran responds by saying that being at home with the baby is “mindnumbing.” I imagine Cameran seated across the table from her child, trying to incite some heated rhetoric, only to become increasingly frustrated with the infant’s inability to differentiate between ethos, pathos, and logos.
“Why can you not grasp Aristotle’s dictum, baby? Why can you not evolve beyond Plato’s teachings?”
Meanwhile my eyes are glued to Chekov’s blazer over here as Cameran casually waves around a bright orange vodka drink over her virginal white coat. I’ve never seen a piece of clothing so white and clean, and I immediately want it spoiled. While I encompass some gremlin-like chaos sphere as it relates to Cameran’s blazer, Cameran’s mom empathizes with her conflicted feelings over being a mother.
“The thing is motherhood can be wonderful and it can be terrible and all in between,” Cameran’s mom says, which I am going to emblazon on a pillow and sell to sad women on the internet.
Since we all have “pillow money” now, we join Chelsea and Craig as they go bamboo shopping at a local plant shop. Craig is complimented on his new SUV, which he says he bought as a “breakup gift” to himself. That’s definitely a harmful system of reward, but let’s move on quickly so we don’t have to address Craig basically becoming our sad cousin who gets “Persevere” tattooed onto his stomach after he breaks up with his high school sweetheart.
They soon jump to the topic of Kathryn’s ridiculous new apartment, which is apparently four full floors. I also assume that for $6,600 a month, her apartment bigger on the inside than the outside like the Fantastic Four’s Baxter Building.
Also, maybe she has those things that all fancy houses have. Umm, what are they called? Oh yeah, hand towels.
After learning that Kathryn recently purchased a Rolls Royce, also known as “those Grey Poupon cars,” we catch up with Kathryn and Naomie as they enjoy lunch. Surprises abound, Kathryn reveals that she is dating a senator who lives in Boca. If those aren’t the first two clues that this new guy is going to hit you over the head and “Dexter” you off the side a boat named “The Philly Buster,” I don’t know what is.
To make matters worse, we then learn from Craig that Kathryn’s new Beltway insider (gross) is a disgraced soon-to-be-former senator whose estranged wife leaked his dick pics or something along those lines. Basically having found a stand-in for her former husband who may soon be forced to hand over sole custody of their kids, Kathryn begins planning a “girls trip” to some adult treehouses or some other such nonsense. My mind hisses and shakes at this comment because I know that I will soon be writing a comparison of the 1991 Kevin Costner Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves treetop civilization to the modern-day Southern Charm treehouse vacation space.
Finally we join Shep, who is up to many important things. First he goes to a coffee shop and orders “something tasty,” which turns out to be a Mason jar full of caramel and vanilla syrup. Shep then cracks open his laptop and begins shopping for dogs. Pet ownership being a very important life step for Shep, he phones his mother, who immediately voices her concern that Shep’s lack of responsibility will lead to the death of an animal. I picture the backyard of Shep’s childhood home littered with tiny makeshift crosses.
Shep counters his mother’s argument by suggesting that a dog might help him settle down. The real surprise here is that Shep’s home isn’t already full of stray dogs who have followed him home.
Craig soon arrives and, blankly staring into the middle distance like he just learned that Shep killed his dog, orders a double rosé in a pint glass. The preferred drink of pervert magicians in the Old West, the double rosé in a pint glass is also known as a Thorny Pink Eye or the Bartles and Jaymes Stirrup Cup.
Jumping past a few scenes where the women of Southern Charm re-litigate Kathryn’s new boyfriend and Chelsea’s seafaring romance while introducing no new information, we continue ramping up to Austen being confronted with allegations of his girlfriend’s infidelity. While this is a serious situation in which Shep and Craig have to share difficult news with their friend, I can’t help but be distracted by Craig’s sweater. It’s purple and it looks like it’s giving birth to him. It’s incredible.
Craig’s sweater looks like a rare flower that bloomed only to reveal Craig. Surely this remarkable ensemble will dull the blow for Austen. It’s like how the Yankees always win. The other team can’t take their eyes off the pinstripes.
Unfortunately, Austen does not arrive and immediately swear fealty to Craig’s sweater. Instead, they have to revert to a real “I gotta be straight with you, man, cause we’re brothers” sort of intervention. For a brief second, I am riddled with anxiety when it seems like our boys will have to survive a single meal without drinking from Mason jars, but that angst quickly subsides.
After much hemming and hawing, Craig tells Austen that his girlfriend has been stepping out on him and is guilty of lady crimes — also known as miss-demeanors.
Austen literally cries “fake news,” but Craig has the receipts. Austen soon accepts his fate and several shots.
Fleeing into another bar, Austen goads his friends into ordering a few “missiles,” which is a shot poured into a can of Redbull, which is meant to be shotgunned straight from the can. I never thought I’d look back wistfully on the early days of Four Loko, but here we are.
Anyway, by this point, Craig, Shep, and Austen are soused to the guards, or as adult men would describe it: Drunk enough to openly discuss our emotions, but too drunk to properly verbalize anything. It’s a real Catch 22 of masculinity. Please help.
After an upset Austen wisely declines a call from his girlfriend, the rest of the big three at this Yalta Conference of buffoonery convince him to call her back and break up.
Austen’s girlfriend admits that she was unfaithful, which only came after Austen cheated on her, so there ya go. We arrive at our moral.
Not all relationships can survive an affair. A good deal definitely don’t need to. Sometimes it’s OK to step away from someone you love. Sometimes it’s OK to feel frustrated as a new parent. Sometimes you just can’t help but fall back into the exact same sort of relationship that you just escaped. Earlier today I was helping a fifth-grader with his English homework. I turned my back for a second and he accidentally stapled his thumb. We both met each other with the same shocked look: Why did you do that?
Of course, there’s no real answer to that question. He was frozen, so I asked if he wanted me to pull it out. Which I did.
The moral here is that it doesn’t always matter why we undermine ourselves after some perceived accomplishment — whether it be having a relationship, becoming a parent, or performing some sweet stapler tricks. The important thing is that you accept help from those around you when you need it. Because you will.
In the meantime, please cool it with all the damn Mason jars.
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