The Real in Reality

This phenomenon of reality shows on television is making me wonder if I should question my day-to-day existence.  If I compare my own reality to what is being seen on the tiny tube, by millions of viewers, I would come up short every time.  Although, out of curiosity, I actually would like to meet the people who regularly eat slippery, slimy, unknown animal body parts, or sing in octaves registering on the seismic scale or who live with complete strangers that have, shall we say, unique bodily functions and habits.

Do these folks, who partake in these shows, know what a life-altering experience – after being on the “boob tube” for a fickle, love to hate ‘em, television audience for a season – will be?  Other than possibly winning a few million dollars, is a life-long moniker to be known as the guy who ran around in their birthday suit (is that a visual, or what?) or being dumped on the first real date, after the cameras stopped rolling and being proposed to in front of your closest 14 million friends, really worth it? Hmmm, let me think about that… it might be!

The other non-reality of reality is the way most of these people look.  Tell me where all of these hard bodies come from.  Something is amiss.  There is obviously a pool from which they emerge – after finding other hard bodies – to partake in the high jinks for high ratings.  It doesn’t seem fair, after feasting on bugs, dragged through the mud or experiencing the elements and not showering for weeks, that they look as good as they do.  I held out a glimmer of hope when I saw two “bowling moms” fighting tooth and nail to win a race around the world… only to be eliminated.  With their defeat, they were sent back to the suburbs and their “other” life.  Perky people with perfect, pearly whites went on to win it all.

But maybe by being sent back to their “real” life they were the actual winners.  If you look at the criteria of those who have experienced reality TV, my real-life reality may not be so different.  After closer inspection, I have all three of the above.  My cooking is misconstrued as mysterious at times, the singing (whose identity shall remain anonymous) that goes on in the shower is, um, breathtaking and even though I thought I knew my love muffin when I married him, well, you don’t really know someone until you live with them for a while.  Add a child, even though you may carry him for 9 months, a total stranger (which by the way, do not come with any instructions, toys, food, guarantees or return policies) emerges, enters your life and the show begins.

Wait! I know the difference in my reality… I don’t get millions of dollars, including a lucrative book contract, exposure out the wazoo and celebrity status, just for surviving.  I get much, much more.  Although, if you happen to see auditions for a “real” mom, with a “real” woman’s body (complete with “happy” wrinkles), let me know via this newspaper.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.                      

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-