I don’t know about you but real celebrity gossip is bad enough but to be bombarded daily with the details of these pseudo-celebrity reality TV stars is just too much. Most of you know I don’t have cable. I get only the seven basic TV stations provided by the antennae that I need to get up off the couch and adjust every time I change the channel. I consider it part of my daily exercise program. But I digress. The point is I don’t have access to the cable channels that seem to be riddled with Reality TV shows (although basic TV has enough of its own) yet even without those channels I know who Kate Gosselin is.

That overbearing, control freak Sergeant from Jon & Kate plus Eight. I did have cable when the pre-series specials aired. I marveled at her ability to gestate six babies for eight months, raise two children shoes and still have the energy to berate her husband. I wondered how they were going to manage with eight kids, six in diapers, both emotionally and financially. Well, they solved the financial part of the equation with a reality show. I can’t help but think there has to be a better way; something that would keep Kate the star and in charge, without exposing the entire family. I thought Kate could hire herself out as a dominatrix. That way she could provide for her family without subjecting all of us to their private business, remain the center of attention and continue to be paid to verbally, physically and emotionally abuse men. At least these men would be glad for the punishment, her husband would get a break and we wouldn’t have to witness it.

Then I brewed on the whole idea of reality shows in general. Why are we fascinated with the ordinary, mundane minutia of some else’s life? Isn’t the ordinary, mundane minutia of our own lives enough? Then a brilliant idea came to me (this is where you picture the light bulb going on over my head, sort of like a Bugs Bunny cartoon). Yes, a reality TV show of mine own.

Rev up your microwaves and pop your corn. You’ll munch away on the edge of your seat when I go out with my gay husband. Will he or wont he drink way too much so that when I guide him home, will he or wont he walk along the streets of Chelsea screaming at the top of his lungs “BEER AND ANOTHER NAME FOR A CAT WHICH I WILL NOT USE HERE”? Ah, good times.

Feel my pain as I sit at my desk daily wearing a WW II gas mask to avoid the noxious fumes coming out of the dog’s sphincter. Jump out of your seat when the phone rings and I almost cry when I remove the mask to answer it. Listen to my boss chatter away about how many men have “winked” at her on Match.com. And sit in awe as she congratulates herself for writing in her profile “I like to spend time alone.” I’m still wondering about that one on so many levels.

Marvel how I get up at 6am to walk the dog and then go to the gym. There I am physically punished by my trainer while I verbally punish him. I had to throw in something for the S&M in all of us. Get involved as you yell at me “When are you going to do the dishes that are still in the sink from Breakfast YESTERDAY?”

And the real nail biter, clipping my mothers overgrown toe nails. You’ll lean in closer to the TV screen as I move in, huge toe nail clipper in hand, ready to snip away at her toe nails. Will my mother yelp before I even touch her nails (that’s a given)? Will I successfully get her nails trimmed before Maggie comes in the room begging to be walked? You’ll have to tune in next time because believe it or not an hour already went by.

 Now of course I wouldn’t be doing this for me, for the money. It’s purely altruistic. I would take the money and single handedly stimulate the economy. My only reward would be the handsome body guard I hire to sleep me with me in every hotel room I stay in while I am on my book signing tour. The book will be titled “I didn’t do it for the money.”

Be sure to stay tuned. I haven’t come up with a name for the series I was thinking of “Hey, why not?” but I’m not completely in love with it. Any suggestions, you know where I am, walking the dog.