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The Real Housewives of D.C. Recap: Let’s Learn About Burkina Faso!

We continue with the use of the subtext translator to recap each scene of the Real Housewives of D.C. and eliminate all the smoke-screening code words.

Lynda’s modeling agency of international diplomacy:
Assistant: There’s this fashion show we’re doing and it’s officially endorsed by the embassy of Burkina Faso.
Lynda: Endorsed by an embassy? That’s so fashion!
Assistant: I know, right? The designer is from there. Is it a country? What is it?
Lynda: It’s the nation of Burkina Faso. They have a clothing designer, just as we here in D.C. have a modeling agency.
Assistant: Indeed. Let’s get some people in here so we can tell them what’s wrong with their appearance.
Lynda: Great idea.

Stacie and Jason at aome, stalking Stacie’s unsuspecting half-brother on Facebook:
Stacie: Jason, tell me how to harass my birth brother on Facebook and out his mom!
Jason: Put “believe” in caps. That way, when he reads it, in his mind it’ll sound like this: “You would not BELIEVE who we have in common.”
Stacie: That is compelling.
Jason: You would not BELIEVE .
Stacie: Right.
Jason: BELIEVE.
Stacie: I have tried everything, but my birth mother won’t disclose my insemination father’s information! That’s why I have no choice but to out her to her son on Facebook.
Jason: BELIEVE.
Stacie: At least I’m not posting it on his wall, right? I’m still a good person.

Cat, Lynda, Mary lunchtime cabal:
Lynda: You have too much going on in your life. I disapprove while pretending to sympathize.
Cat: I was just trying to have it all. Don’t hate me for being a media whore.
Lynda: Uh-huh. Can we talk about Michaele now? Did you know she’s saying she used to model with my agency, which, were it true, would have ranked her with some of the most passably attractive people in D.C.?
Mary: It really bugs me that she’s hot in a skanky way! I wish I was as skankily hot as her. Except then maybe I couldn’t judge her. Hmmm …

Tareq and Michaele on their way to dinner:
Tareq: Remember when we went here on our first date and sat at the chef’s table and you ordered plain grilled chicken? You were so anorexic!
Michaele: Ha-ha! You’re lucky I didn’t chew it up and spit it into my water glass!
Tareq: Or stick you finger down your throat!
Michaele: Ha-ha! Ha! I thought a rich guy like you would dump me if I ate, and I was so broke! I was so dumb then, huh?
Tareq: You’re still dumb. But I love you.
Michaele: Tareq has taught me to not be afraid. That's the main thing. Even though he’s forever putting me in harm’s way, financially, socially, and even legally speaking. He’s also taught me to go for it. By which I think he means lie. To everyone. About everything. All the time.

Cat, Lynda, Mary lunchtime cabal:
Cat: Why are the Salahis so crazy, when we’re so sane?
Mary: Good question.
Lynda: A mystery for the ages.

Tareq and Michaele arrive at the testaurant, where they are greeted — perhaps too warmly — by the restaurant’s general manager:
Tareq: Get your hands off my wife.
GM: She flung herself at me! Do I have herpes now?
Tareq: Just get me a drink.

Moments later, Tareq and Michaele reappear in head-to-toe white and glitter, a modern-day, talentless, completely psychotic Marilyn Monroe and Elton John, to meet their appropriately dressed friends.
Friends: We’ve been married twenty years.
Michaele: Woooooooooooooooow.
Friends: Yeah, boredom sets in, so we make plans with you weirdos.
Michaele: What’s the secret to twenty years?
Friends: We just said. Also, we’re bestest, bestest friends.
Tareq: We’re bestest friends, too! We’re never apart! Never! Not even when we go to the bathroom! We have a passion for life, okay? And together as team, we’re unstoppable. We can’t be stopped. We’re going to keep on running until we get across that border, once the feds are onto us, I mean. Maybe we’ll go to India.
Michaele: Yeah, I mean, we’re single-handedly responsible for the friendly diplomatic ties enjoyed by the United States government and the Indian government. We did that. The Salahis.
Tareq: President Obama is hosting India for the State dinner! It’s like he invited us to come over with his mind.

Lynda’s modeling emporium, Lynda, Burkina Faso ambassador’s Wife, Burkina Faso designer:
Lynda: We are so fortunate to have people from so many countries here in D.C. … even really poor ones.
Others: Yes.
Lynda: When really poor countries like yours where the per capita GDP is like $1200 per year put on fashion shows, it’s like all of a sudden fashion isn’t frivolous or fluffy anymore. It’s just sad and wrong.
Others: Yes.

Cat and Charles at home, talking about how much Obama is looking forward to meeting her:
[Ed’s note: Owing to the disturbing nature of this section, which implicates the highest levels of government in inanity of the highest order and tempts the gods to pelt us with lightning bolts and put an end to it, once and for all, reader discretion is advised.]
Cat: I’m gonna meet Obama finally.
Charles: He’s heard all about you.
Cat: Took long enough.
Charles: Yes, but here I am on TV claiming to have diverted his attention away from important matters of state and humanitarian crises or what have you to fill him in on you, my new housewife of D.C. Wrap your head around that.
Cat: I can’t do it. Seriously. It boggles the mind.

Stacie and Jason’s house:
Stacie: My birth mother’s son hasn’t replied to our creepy message after a whole week! What’s it going to take for this family to let us destroy their lives??
Jason: UnBELIEVable.
Stacie: Hey, look, there’s something in your in-box!
Jason: Why didn’t I think of looking there before? No, it's not from him.
Stacie: I’m frustrated. What can I do to take this to some really crazy level?
Jason: You know, I bet the Nigerian embassy fields requests like this all the time. Requests from the adopted daughters of Nigerian fathers who don’t know they had them.
Stacie: That would be a good show. I'd watch that.

Lynda’s home office:
Lynda: Hi, Mary. Come to my fashion show!
Mary: Okay. You know I’ll "attend" anything as long as it’s an “event.”
Lynda: I posted a picture of Tareq and Michaele with security so that they'll be humiliated in public if they try to come in.
Mary: Ooh. That’s awesome! I’m bringing Lolly, just in case they do. Wouldn’t it be great if she pulled an Ashley and ripped out a chunk of Tareq’s hair?

Lynda’s house, hairdressing moment:
Lynda: I love Burkina Faso so much.
Hairdresser: What’s that, a handbag line?
Lynda: No, it’s a country that I care about deeply despite having been aware of its existence for five minutes.
Hairdresser: How come?
Lynda: It makes me look deep. Oh, son’s girlfriend! Son’s girlfriend!
Assistant: Yes, your highness.
Lynda: Get me my astrological chart. And I need help getting into this dress. Bring the butter.
Assistant: Yes, your highness. This is totally not weird.

Stacie reaches out to the Nigerian embassy:
Stacie: I’m on a journey!
Stella: Who isn’t? We're on Bravo!
Stacie: Look at this picture of a man. I don’t know his name. Do you know who he is?
Stella: Hmmm. He’s wearing a cap. Why, yes! I do! I think I might. Journey adjourned.

Lynda at the fashion show, concerned:
Lynda: This is the deepest, most un-shallow fashion show ever, and I am a great humanitarian for throwing it. Oh, security? Did you get that photo of the couple I wanted humiliated and ejected from the premises should they try to come in?
Michaele: Lynda is so jealous of my prettiness and hotness. I’m the most popular!
Lynda: I care about Burkina Faso! Deeply!

Tareq and Michaele hit the hair salon. Michaele tells the hair and makeup people all about her special, confidential, upcoming secret night. Then she loses the invite. The music is ominous. The fourth wall is broken as the existence of producers is acknowledged. The center cannot hold. The invitation is not found. The bra is lost.
Tareq: An invitation to the White House is just a formality. It’s a souvenir for you to frame. Totally don’t need it. Like wearing a bra to the White House. Unnecessary. A formality.
Michaele: You work hard. You give a lotta love, and you end up crashing the White House with your delusional husband. It’s what every little girl dreams of. Being detained by the Secret Service … Hello, Stacie? Hi! We’re going to the White House! We’re just calling to make you jealous!
Stacie: My faith in God has been tested!
Michaele: I’m going to squeak now! Squeak!

Photo: Bravo