Salt Lake City has never been a land of happy-go-lucky women. Rarely a place of calm, always engaged in conflict, the Mormon land exists solely to breed reality stars of the Mother variety.
This Mother’s Day, though, the Real Housewives of Salt Lake City are spending their time in the Greek town of Santorini, realizing they are mothers to us first, and to their children second. That’s with the exception of Meredith Marks, Greek Goddess of Maternity, who spends half the episode losing her life force without the sound of her son’s monotonous mantras.
The Salt Lake City ladies have resigned to ending yet another season on the cast trip, and with that comes some serious fatigue. Meredith has no interest in continuing to film this reality show. She just wants to stand in an empty kitchen while her entire family tries to slice a single lemon.
“I’m very over-tired, and I’m tired of being treated like I’m a piece of dirt on the ground,” Meredith tells Mary, before labeling Whitney and Heather “mean girls.”
“So what do you want to do?” Mary replies. The answer is to slop around in an effort to make everyone else as miserable as she is, and with that, she succeeds. As Darren Aronofsky once wrote and directed, Mother!
Historically, Meredith spends cast trips in the hot seat, ready to rage at the nearest bystander. In Zion, the women accused her of faking her father’s memorial in an effort to indict Jen Shah, leading to a massive meltdown not seen since. Meredith’s two modes—sleeping and screaming—are in a constant oscillation, and tonight, she sleepwalks right through it all, somehow creating an ominous mix of these two modes to unleash a new form of evil.
Even in the sprinter van, the Housewives’ favorite place to be insane, she interrupts a fight with Heather to answer a call from little baby Brooks, before moping through the streets of Santorini on her own, while Heather, Whitney, and Britani make some mousaka with some Greek guy named Giovanni. Whoever split the cast up very un-subtlely decided to throw Meredith to the wolves, praying she’ll clock out of her motherly coma and into her Housewife duties. Even those producerial efforts aren’t strong enough to withstand the art of disengagement.
After seeing some sights, Meredith decides to return to the table the way a 12-year-old throwing a huge fit at family dinner does: barely concealing tears while letting everyone know she’s nowhere near OK.
“I am OK,” Meredith sniffles to Giovanni, in a very “Going through a lot. Don’t wanna talk about it.” Facebook status way. “Oh, you’re so kind. Unfortunately, some of the women haven’t been so kind. I’m just sad. I miss my son on Mother’s Day. I won’t get to talk to him. Sad.”
“...The wine makes us so happy,” Giovanni tries, feeling his Grecian joie de vivre fall to the force of misery.
Meanwhile, across town, the other ladies ride some donkeys while encouraging Lisa to step back and make Meredith fight her own battles. That’s an incredibly hard task for Lisa, given she’s a “real loyal friend,” unlike these slithery snakes. It’s so tough being a good person all the time, but Lisa’s used to that eternal sacrifice.
So, the advice goes “in one ear… and out the other,” the ladies reconvening for some Greek salad, where Heather attempts to fight with Meredith, once more, while Lisa clocks in for some legal representation.
Here, Whitney apologizes for calling Meredith an alcoholic pill-popper in as sincere a delivery as she knows how. No one is moved, not even a little. The hate these women have for each other overrides any ability to kiss and make up.
On the way home, Meredith dozes off, falling into a comatose state as her powers dwindle while the distance between her and her children grows. And then something amazing happens: Meredith comes alive. Off-screen, she must have fed on some Greek children, or at least a gyros. As the ladies share embarrassing teenage stories, she finally opens up, admitting that once, many, many years ago, Meredith broke a plate. That’s right, Ms. Perfect has her skeletons, too.
Some mothers are prim and proper, and others are Britani, who discovered it was Mother’s Day while on the trip. In her defense, she hasn’t had a relationship with her kids in the better part of a decade. She’s been busy making business moves like a boss, trademarking “high body count hair,” even though it’s a phrase concocted by Angie K. and manosphere podcasters.
Naturally, Angie thinks this is “weird” and “embarrassing” behavior, even though it’d definitely be “iconic” and “hilarious” if she thought of the idea first.
“But what did you do? You had bad hair, and I said it,” she shoots at Britani, who simply says, “I think you’re strangely jealous of my hair.”
“It is my line.”
Angie would trademark being Greek and desperate if that were possible. She’s the most consumerist Housewife this town has ever seen, and she’s been outplayed by someone even more hopeless. After all, Britani (allegedly) got the trademark, Lisa got the Kerastase endorsement, and all Angie snagged was a Las Culturistas award.
The trademark was registered just 11 days after the “high body count” episode aired—and not to Britani, but probably a lawyer or something (I don’t know patent law)—although its status remains pending. Maybe, just maybe, Angie can snatch it from Britani’s grubby hands.
For now, though, the women end another episode in abject misery. Meredith has infected each and every Housewife with an inability to enjoy the cast trip, the virus spreading rampantly so severely that a sleepy Mary opts out of the night’s plans altogether.
As the women weaken and turn on each other, Meredith will only grow stronger. Perhaps that’s why the episode ends with a signature Meredith Marks cackle—something she should trademark.
