Looking at her life trajectory with our feet struggling on the bottom rungs of life’s great ladder, we can only gaze longingly at the hem of one of her tiny skirts disappearing ahead of us, one rung at a time.
What are these men trying to prove? Are they competing for Stud of the Century, defined by their ability to produce the greatest number of kids?
To me, it smacks of a woman trying to make herself relevant, when her dullness put her in danger of being booted off.
A fan of excessively large bows and over-fussy outfits, Sutton’s attire is so jaw-droppingly bizarre on occasion, you could be forgiven for thinking she is drowning in a vat of marshmallows.
Christina Ricci looked as if her upper half had obtained its own visa and was already en route to pastures new; Sarah Paulson, in bizarrely angled Louis Vuitton black (they really should stick to baggage), appeared to have been invaded by a sinister Cubist.
The feeling so far is that we’re in for yet another bout of tedium in which the only nod to the real Paris is the name of the city in the title.
Kyle Richards said possibly the most important thing ever uttered on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills this week: you really don’t want to mess with someone from Bosnia.
With the exception of Sutton, all the women look as if they’re wearing three-seater sofas on their faces, but Dorit’s lips have furnished up to a whole new level.
I’d say that Will hasn’t been handed down a punishment but a reprieve. He must be clapping his hands with glee that he doesn’t have to sit through that interminable ceremony for a decade.