Fresh off the news of her divorce from Tom D’Agastino , AKA Gru from the Despicable Me movies, Luann is playing a rousing game of tennis with her new husband, and talking about how they are in their “honeymoon phase” and have been since they first met. I guess that ended pretty swiftly. “I was on a mission to make this work. And I did” she says. I want to cry. Gru, you’ll be sorely missed you big, bald, ball of abhorrence and revulsion.
Tinsley is hosting a party for Sonja to celebrate her for letting her stay in her house for the past several months, and Sonja doesn’t want to go to it.
Bethenny is hanging with Pro Hockey player, Nate Thompson, and he has to take out one of his teeth to eat a corned beef sandwich.
Dorinda’s rotund dry-cleaner boyfriend is visiting her tonight, and he comes armed with a wedding dress he had made for her and a bottle of champagne. He looks like if a serpent were bald, and also had eaten a human being whole and it was still being digested. His penis almost red rockets out of his pants when Dorinda just touches his arm.
Hanging with the young French man in her bedroom, wearing a neglige, the producers pan back to a clip of the other guy she was seeing earlier in the season named Rocco, and they literally put “Sonja’s back up plan” in quotes as his description:
Also, she just has stray pairs of gentleman’s boxers lying all around her room, and the 15-year-old French beret model doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about this. She is packing for her trip to France to meet the Frenchmen’s parents, and she is packing several pairs of panties that she says her dogs have licked. Delicious.
Tinsley is having a team of servants over her house to do her makeup and curl her hair just the way she likes it, and talking in her confessional about how she’s really nervous for the party she’s throwing because “it’s the first party she’s held in New York”. She is annoying. And shrill. I’m happy the season is ending for no other reason than I can forget about her fucking shitty voice. She is gabbing on the phone to her new beau, Scott, talking about how she’s nervous for the toast she has to make. God, I cannot stand her.
At the party, a string of white men straight out of a Trump family reunion photograph, all with names like “Tripp”, and “Eric” and “Jeremy”, all in penny loafers and blue blazers and with serial killer smiles plastered across their faces are the first to arrive. The camera also pans suspiciously to a woman who looks exactly like Liza Minelli walking grandly off the elevator and into the party, but then makes no mention of her whatsoever for the rest of the episode. Really an odd mix of people at this event- there is also a lady who brought a big fleece tartan blanket with her and is sitting in the corner with it draped over her legs.
Ramona arrives at the event and begins blathering to anyone who will listen about how Sonja probably isn’t coming. This sends Tinsley over the edge, and she looks like she is on the verge of tears. But Ramona is loving it: grinning at her demise like a wretched witch over a cauldron.
But Sonja does show up, wearing a giant fur (what month even is this? No one else is wearing any semblance of a coat), and immediately begins complaining. The cake is not satisfactory to her, and she all but spits out the martini she’s offered, aptly named the “Sonjatini”. She is making a face and going “Ew is this Titos? It’s warm. It’s too sweet. Bar liquor. Yuck. I can’t just drink anything.”
Guess who’s back? It’s Harry Dubin, and he’s sidling up to Sonja like the smarmy predatorial attack animal he is. When he speaks to her, he is about two centimetres from her neck, and it looks like his stinky hot roast beef breath is being breathed right into her face. Sonja counters this by screaming about how the young French mime she’s been dating just “tossed her like a salad” right before she got here. Always a classy time.
Sonja is hanging with the other gals and yelling out “I’m a little lit!”, interspersed with more complaints about the event’s drink menu. “It’s too sweet. I’m not drinking that.” Bethenny alerts her that the drink is made with Doublecross Vodka, “You get it?”. Wow. Shocking. I didn’t know that Tinsley had ever even had a witty thought up there in her teensy weensy little mind. Consider me shooketh, and I can’t fucking stand that word.
The woman with the giant teeth, Missy, Tom’s ex, from earlier in the season is here and she is chatting it up with Tom in the corner, away from his wife. “I get all choked up when I see you”, he says, all but sticking his penis directly into one of her lady holes. He is disgusting. He’s rubbing her back and putting his pudgy hands all over her. Then, he has the fucking audacity to unplug his mic while Missy coaxes him to “De-mic”. “I’ve gotta unplug this thing” he says, grease and sweat emanating off of his big, bald head.
On the other side of the room from him, as he is detaching the microphone to profess his love for his ex-girlfriend, Luann is gushing about how in love she is with Tom, about how lucky she is to be his.
Meanwhile, Ramona is lurking in the corner like a bird of prey, almost drooling while looking on at Luann’s young son, Noel, squinting her eyes, licking her lips at him, and swooshing her hair back and forth. “Do not even think about it” Luann is saying in her testimonial.
Tinsley gives some weird toast to Ramona where she talks about how they are “like sisters” and then she awards Sonja with a $5,000 gift card to Bergdorf Goodman and a giant photograph of a picture of the two of them where Sonja’s head is cropped off. For some reason, Sonja decides to stick the gift card up into her vagina and dance around with it up there. The woman is on pills.
In the little summaries they put next to freeze frames of all of the women at the end of the finale, Bravo offered up some info about Luann and Tom’s divorce. You will notice in the photo that Tom’s eyes are glued to Carole’s breasts and he is smiling at them like a giant, vile dirtbag.
Also, they spelled Tinsley’s name wrong. I get it Bravo. I would too. Fuck her:
And Sonja wrapped up the season lookin’ fly as hell:
And that about does it for Season 9 of The Real Housewives of New York. I’m beside myself with grief. At the very least, we can look forward to three more weeks of Reunion episodes, a handsome consolation prize. But then what? What will happen? Whatever will I do? What will happen on my Wednesday nights? Will I just sit in a chair and stare at my television screen, my finger wandering aimlessly around the remote control dial as I search for true happiness? Until next week, I’ll leave you with the preview for the first reunion episode: