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reality TV

The blogosphere is aflutter with talk of Project Mom—a new reality show that is going to follow the lives of (mom) bloggers. It seems like everybody wants in. But I would rather get my nails prized out with rusty spoons than let a reality TV camera near my house. And here are five reasons why.

My dog is socially retarded. He looks friendly enough. And most of the time, he is. But at the sight of a stranger in our house? He goes nuts. We’re talking foaming at the mouth, barking nonstop for five hours nuts. So, those cameramen wouldn’t be able to get any footage without the soundtrack of a rabid dog in the background.

My house is a pigsty. Which would, you know, not only be embarrassing, but also something of a hazard for the above mentioned camera crew. Someone would end up tripping over a stray laundry basket or dog bowl and then I’d be on the hook for some multi-million dollar lawsuit.

My self confidence doesn’t need the blow. Everyone knows the camera puts on ten pounds, right? Well, that would mean I look 30 pounds heavier than I ‘d like. And I don’t really want to see my televised self taunting my real self with the failure of our half-assed dieting attempts (did I mention I like to eat ice cream while watching TV?).

My blogging habits aren’t that exciting. These posts are usually written between the hours of 9 and 10 p.m., on the couch, while my cat tries to scramble on top of my keyboard and my husband tries not to look like he wants some attention (although he does). Try not to fall over yourselves with excitement at the thought.

My personality is too ripe for creative editing. Everyone knows that the producers of reality TV shows edit footage so that “characters” have identifiable personas. And mine? Probably wouldn’t be pretty. I’d most likely be the overly dramatic, self absorbed primadonna who everyone loves to hate (even though I’m a very nice person, in real life. Really.).

Plus, once the hate mail started flowing in, I’d probably have to check myself in to a nice mental hospital in the country to cope with the mental breakdown I’d have.

So, yeah. No reality TV show for me. But there are plenty of women out there who are going for it—and who’d be excellent on TV, like her and her and her and them. So you should lend them your support. I mean, really. How many more seasons of The Bachelor can we watch before our brains turn to goo?

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