We’re back in the Cave of Forgotten Beefs, where Cary and Brandi are battling over whether Cary indeed said Brandi’s doctor had killed patients on the operating table. (For the record, I believe Brandi, and I am 99.999 percent sure that Cary is just afraid of getting sued for repeating on national television the goss she told a friend privately.) Meanwhile, everyone has decided they no longer care about holding LeeAnne accountable for, you know, threatening to strangle Cary.
The next morning, D’Andra insists the gang must complete a team-building exercise. “A lot of times in business, you’ll do something called a ropes course,” she explains. An MBA has never been more appealing. To achieve maximum chaos — I mean, meaningful personal growth — she pairs up Kameron with Brandi and Cary with LeeAnne, selfishly reserving relative non-crazy person Stephanie for herself. This special-edition Housewives–Double Dare crossover requires competitors to dizzy themselves running in circles around a pole, crawl under a net, then find a ball hidden in the sand and throw it into a bucket.
Actually, invoking the sacred name of Double Dare here feels wrong — not just because zero green slime is involved — but because the challenge is not well planned at all. It looks like a harried production assistant had 15 minutes to scramble around the resort for unattended sports equipment before the ladies came down from breakfast. Kameron kicks ass, which should come as no surprise, she says, because she has a “professional athlete” gene. Does she also have a “person who thinks pink dog food is a multimillion-dollar idea” gene? Lest we forget, LeeAnne is still very much recovering from her plastic surgery with Dr. True (excuse me, “Dr.” “True”). “My titties hurt so bad, they are on fire right now,” she says in a confessional. But sore titties be damned: The former high-school team captain dominates in a subsequent game of volleyball.
Over a picnic lunch, an emotional Stephanie describes her guilt over not moving her son Cruz, who is dyslexic, to a new school sooner. Cary excuses herself from the meal by announcing, “I need to go wash the sand out of my vagina.” Kameron doesn’t bat an eye at this, which the rest of the group registers as hilariously hypocritical. Had Brandi dropped the V-word, her high-society nemesis would have been involuntarily consumed in flames of rage and cremated on the spot. Um, that’s because a sandy vag is a “medical situation,” okay? “She legitly [sic] has to take care of that,” Kameron insists.
Meanwhile, Brandi and Stephanie embark on a mission to recover Sexual Chocolate, their long-lost dildo that LeeAnne claims to have left buried on the beach. They believe LeeAnne actually dug it up and took it home, and they will leave no penis behind. In what’s essentially a mini Absolutely Fabulous episode, they head “undercover” to the lobby, assuming LeeAnne and D’Andra’s identities to get their hands on a room key. “Have you ever heard of me before?” slurs Brandi-as-LeeAnne to the concierge, who is an extremely good sport about all of this. Once in LeeAnne and D’Andra’s suite, Stephanie takes a moment to pick at their leftover room-service pancakes before they find Sexual Chocolate hidden under a pillow.
The women of Dallas board a yacht for an evening cruise. All is well until the wind whips up some serious waves, and with them, drama. Although everyone coexists peacefully for a blessed few moments, Kameron takes it upon herself to confront Brandi about mocking LeeAnne’s less-than-world-class surgeon. D’Andra gets Cary to admit she said Rich has a small penis, which Cary insists was a joke. (LeeAnne seems unbothered by this accusation, pulling up a photo of her fiancé on her phone, zooming in, and stroking his onscreen package.) Brandi spills that LeeAnne said she knows guys who swear that Mark gets blowjobs at a local gay bar. Cary, for her part, is extremely bothered, calling that “the most outrageous, made-up thing that I’ve ever heard” and denouncing LeeAnne’s “repulsive” energy.
Two hours and far too many tequila shots later, Stephanie is on the floor, ill from the rocky waters. She gags over the edge of the boat, where an equally seasick Cary will soon join her. Please, please, please, can they get shipwrecked on a desert island? I would love to watch that disaster movie. (Actually, no — someone please hire me to write that disaster movie.)
Now it’s LeeAnne’s turn to be upset. She tells Cary that she knows she screws up, but she owns and apologizes for her mistakes (which, to review, have included threatening to strangle the very person she’s speaking to). Why can’t they give her a break? Cary is distraught: “When I hear stuff like that, I fucking panic.” LeeAnne’s voice begins to crack. “Am I gonna cry right now? No. I’m fucking hurting like Ali right now,” she says. Like the People’s Champ always said: Float like a butterfly, sting like some sand got into your boob-job sutures.
Stephanie stares down LeeAnne with her piercing blue Siberian Husky eyes. “There’s something that’s been bothering me for many days,” she deadpans. “… I need to see those titties.” LeeAnne threatens to find Sexual Chocolate (or as she bafflingly, upsettingly calls it, “Señor Hottie Blackie”) and chase Stephanie with it. But guess who’s lying in wait in Brandi’s purse? Brandi gleefully pulls out the penis and tickles Kameron’s feet with it. “No, Brandi, bad,” LeeAnne chides her, like a puppy who’s chewing up a favorite pair of shoes, or a dildo.
I standi for Brandi because she is an unwrapped Atomic Fireball in human form, so I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually starting to feel bad for Kameron. We’re all getting a little dildo-ed out here. “I’m done with this behavior,” Kameron says, leaving not just the conversation, but the entire boat. (Don’t worry, they’re docked — she didn’t jump overboard.)
Then, sitting on shore, she uses the word “trashy” in reference to Brandi exactly seven times in 25 seconds. Suddenly, I’m feeling a little less bad for Kameron.