The Kitchen Shrink

by Dee Detarsio

  I stood up to take the kids’ empty bowls into the kitchen when I heard the tease for the last segment, something about me looking for love. And then I heard it. The most horrendous noise possible. Me singing. Oh no. This wouldn’t be good.

  “What was that?” Ryan asked me. It had gone by so fast, maybe no one noticed. It was hard to understand.

  “I don’t know,” I bluffed.

  “Were you singing?” Nicole followed up, beginning a pity party for me.

  “I can’t remember what that would be.” I slunk down in my chair. How in the world?

  The show came back with a vengeance. Since a camera hadn’t been on me at the time, the producers thoughtfully dug up the most humiliating video of me they could find, editing together shots of me with messy hair, fugg boots, dopey looks on my face, along with Elgin saying “Is our Lisby hoping for a love connection with our very own cameraman?” And then it hit.

  I heard my voice, on tape, singing. I hadn’t even remembered singing out loud, right after Dustin replaced the batteries in my microphone pack. I guess I must have felt secure since I had been upstairs in my bedroom with no camera pointing at me. But, obviously, the sound had been recorded.

  “My kids smoke dope, my ex is one,” I warbled on screen. “I said nope, when I wanted to run, into your arms.” I covered my face with my hands and folded over in my chair. “And feel your lucky charms...” the screeching noise continued.

  “Mom,” both kids screamed in unison. “We don’t smoke dope,” Ryan said, followed by a disgusted, “Geeze,” from Nicole.

  The phone was ringing, and though I’m no psychic I knew it was my ex. I might as well get it over with.

  “Thanks a lot, Lisby,” he exploded over the receiver. “How could you call me a dope on national TV? You were singing! You! On TV. What were you thinking? Nice job.” Click. Good thing he hung up, I had no rebuttal.

  The show made me look like some love-struck hussy. It ended on what I guess they would call a cliff-hanger, as in, did the crazy lady hook up with the cameraman? Then they encouraged viewers to watch the live finale. Ugh. Why did I sing? Why did they air it? The tiny bubble of hope that maybe Sam would call once the show was finished, popped. Why do I do such stupid things? Why did I even agree to be on this show? When does wisdom set in?

  Chapter 32

  And The Winner Is…

  We had to go to LA for the live finale show after the voters voted. They even had us on the stage at the Kodak Theater where they shot American Idol.

  The host was a gorgeous woman with an Australian accent no less, named Jenny, who pronounced it Jenn-aye. They introduced her as a carpenter but by the looks of it the only things she ever hammered were pints of Tooheys and strapping lads who looked like Russell Crowe.

  I couldn’t believe how nervous I was. The show kept going to so many commercial breaks I tried to figure out how much money they were making. Elgin told me that reality shows were so popular because we were all a bunch of scum sucking voyeurs who loved to catch people with their pants down. He said since they were also cheap to produce, networks were thrilled to oblige. When you think of the salaries of actors for scripted drama shows, the budget for one show was in the millions of dollars, versus a piddling $50,000 grand prize and free ‘actors’ starring in a reality show like The Kitchen Shrink. Even when you add in production costs, travel and lodging for the crew and construction expenses, it still made economic sense. If they could produce a show for under a million, even if it was a stinker, their commercial revenue would pay off. Even I could figure that out. And I round out my checkbook and topped out in 4th grade math when my kids tried to ask for my help. I had an unflattering flashback of myself screaming at Ryan when he was only about ten years old, “just be smart enough to be able to afford your own damn CPA when you grow up.”

  So, in terms of production costs, reality TV was here to stay. TV bosses could plug viewing holes with all sorts of reality fanfare, rake out their money from the advertisers, and if the ratings weren’t good, quickly replace it with something else. I could see why networks were able to roll them out.

  And we’re back. Live. Yikes. I swear, for as much as I knew I wasn’t going to win the prize, the live show producers had the crowd so whipped up I felt like a contestant on American Idol, convinced I was going to be the next shining star. With all the tension building, flashing lights and booming music, I hoped I didn’t hyperventilate.

  Jenn-aye was getting to the specifics of the voting. Wow, 15 million viewers called in, who knew? That’s three times the population of Denmark. True, it was less than half of the votes American Idol gets, but they were going for an older audience. They did a recap of the previous night’s show ending, where they updated all of our characters and what we were doing and how we had changed.

  Mary in Michigan lost a total of 30 pounds during her kitchen renovation on her condo. Mary was great. She was still a little chubby, but had these huge dimples, with a great laugh and just a great spirit. Her kitchen was a little too country kitsch for me, complete with roosters, but it worked for her. She loved it. She says she’s cooking healthy lunches for all of her friends in her new kitchen, and collectively, they’ve lost 80 pounds in the last couple of months. I clapped as hard as anybody.

  Mark from Florida was so weird. His claim to fame was that he exorcised a devil from his basement. Riiighht, as Dr. Evil would say. I told my kids they should probably still be checking in that basement for dead bodies or something. Mark was married to a normal enough looking woman and even had three cute kids. If my kitchen was modern/contemporary, and Mary’s was country, Mark’s kitchen was totally indescribable. Don’t get me wrong, I like rustic crosses and Spanish/Moorish artifacts as much as the next person, but his kitchen looked like the only thing that got burned in there was incense. Mark had changed by saying he found the Lord, but the question was, did the Lord really want to be found by Mark?

  And finally, there was Edna from Idaho, who got engaged to the termite inspector. Poor Edna just looked like a woman who was going to beat somebody up, but in reality, she was very sweet. I was so happy for her. She couldn’t say a sentence without waving her left hand and its miniature engagement ring around. Her kitchen was called The Kitchen Pink. Everything was pink, but it worked. Her mother had just died from breast cancer and she was active in raising funds for breast cancer awareness. Her activism and her pink kitchen seemed to help her deal with her mother’s passing.

  The audience really seemed to clap over my kitchen. The producers were kind in coming up with changes they said I had made in my life. And they made a big deal about wanting to know if I found true love. They even dragged that out over a commercial break. Elgin told me the producers begged Sam to ask me out so they could put it in the show. He wanted to know if Sam had called me. I was so sad. My feelings were hurt that Sam hadn’t called, even though I had to be glad he didn’t pimp it out for reality TV.

  I smiled and shook my head as Jenn-aye asked the question “all of America wanted to know: did you and Sam the Cameraman hook up?” The audience groaned. With pity. For me. America was a sucker for a good love story, I guess. I know I was.

  “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Jenn-aye was flapping her hands, trying to calm the audience. “Lisby’s doing just fine.”

  Geeze. Maybe I should suggest a reality show called How to Blow a Date on National TV and Feel Like the World’s Loneliest Woman. “Since the show ended,” the host was saying, “Lisby has helped several women find their inner-decorating diva. She’s helped renovate an entryway and the kitchens of two other women, sparking changes in their own lives.” Polite applause. “Just so you know, Lisby,” Jenn-aye called over to me, “a lot of our viewers emailed in that they hope you redo your bedroom.” Ha ha. “Whatever blows yer hair back, right?” She said. Whatever that means.

  The producers were right, though. A couple friends of friends saw me on the show and asked for help with their kitchens. We didn’t do major renovation
s, and after I got over my fear of screwing up, I really enjoyed helping them and giving them my opinion on what they needed to do. I really liked doing that and when I got back home I was scheduled to meet with another woman to help her with her bedroom. Maybe it would inspire me to tackle mine.

  The host went on to announce the winner of The Kitchen Shrink…after the break. I didn’t know why I was perspiring. I didn’t think I won. I didn’t even think I deserved to win. My kitchen was enough. I was grateful for that. Just this show hyped everything up so much. I was pulling for Mary or Edna. If Mark won, so help me.

  They came back from what must have been a two minute Dr. Pepper commercial and the crowd went wild as Mary won. Good for her. I was clapping my heart out, and not just because there was a giant camera in my face making sure I wasn’t having sour grapes or rolling my eyes or anything. Freaking Mark looked like he was praying and about to break out speaking in tongues or something. Thank goodness it was all over.

  “But wait, there’s more,” the host boomed. “What about our designers? We can’t forget our talented men and women in the trenches, can we?”

  The crowd screamed, “No!”

  The host explained that viewers voted twice. “Once for the most improved winner of The Kitchen Shrink, and once for the best kitchen.” More applause. “Who’s it going to be? Who is our winning designer?” She ripped open the envelope.

  “Elgin, come on down!”

  My girlfriend was crying like a baby, or Miss America. I truly believed he was expecting a crown. He calmed himself, wiped his tears and grabbed the mic from the host and totally surprised me.

  “I couldn’t have done this without Lisby.” He beckoned me over. Crap. I almost wiped out in my slippery heels as I hobbled over to him.

  He took a half step in front of me, like I was going to hog his limelight or something. “Lisby is a winner in her own way.”

  Gee, thanks, Elgin.

  “We took a good person, lightened her up, her hair, her house, her style, her kitchen, and brought out the real Lisby, a beautiful woman inside and out. I think the viewers were wrong,” he babbled on. “Maybe you can’t see it, maybe she didn’t lose weight, banish Lucifer from her house or find a man, but she is the most changed. She is calm, confident and I call her my friend.”

  He took my hand then and raised it high before bowing down. I went along with him, the front of my dress gaping wide. The music began playing, confetti and balloons fell from the ceiling and the crowd went wild. As he stood up, he whispered in my ear. “Seriously, Lisby. Have you ever thought about a boob job? I’m just say-ing.”

  “You’re a boob job.” Of course, that’s the clip that played over and over the next day on E! TV. I could only pray it didn’t make The Soup.

  Jenn-aye the host interrupted us. “I hate to break up your little love fest,” she said, “but there’s one more surprise we have.”

  The crowd oohed, as if wondering what it could be. “We’d like to thank our many viewers who voted via email and added their suggestions and thoughts, which we here at The Kitchen Shrink took into consideration. And that’s our surprise. Lisby, would you please rejoin the group?”

  I walked back over to the rest of the gang. Not next to Mark. A soft drum roll sounded in the background, along with whiplashing laser lights set to some techno-beat. I had to shut my eyes.

  “One of you four,” continued the host, “is in for a real treat. We’ve decided to listen to our viewers, and bring back one of you contestants for the next season of The Kitchen Shrink.” I had heard the show had been renewed, but I didn’t know anything about this.

  The crowd cheered. Mark, Mary and Edna looked as proud and confident as if they had successfully installed a garbage disposal all by themselves, without reading the directions, in world record time. Why did they look so eager? How could that be? Who in their right mind would want to go through all this again? Nearly two months of cameras shoved up your nose and in your business? Why would anyone volunteer for weeks and weeks of trying to hide and lie and pretending to be nice and normal?

  Oh dear God, no. I pasted a gritty smile on my face and felt my teeth show through the small crack in my lips. Please, please, please. Not me. I turned my head as Edna grabbed my hand and then reached for Mary’s, who was holding Mark’s hand. They were all but squealing with excitement, Edna’s hand was cutting off my circulation as I felt them all praying to be chosen. Are they freaking kidding? Who would want to go through that again? All of our eyes glommed onto to the host as she shimmied her way to the podium and held up the envelope that contained, at least in my mind, the name of the biggest loser.

  “This envelope contains the contestant, chosen by our viewers, to reappear on the our next season of The Kitchen Shrink.” The audience was quiet, as the music thudded, thudded, thudded, raising everyone’s blood pressure. Or maybe that was just a blood vessel in my brain, threatening to blow.

  “Will it be Edna?” teased the host. Edna let go of my hand to cover her mouth to stifle a scream. “Or Mark?” Jenn-aye continued. Mark nodded like he was sure it was him. While the camera was on him he made the sign of the cross then kissed his fingers and blew his kiss heavenward. If there is a God, surely in His infinite wisdom, He will catch that kiss and deliver.

  “Or how about Mary?” She waved cutely to the camera.

  “Or Lisby?” I wanted to vomit.

  She slit open the envelope, jerking her head back as if in surprise. “Are you ready?” The music stuttered. She took a deep breath. “As we head into our next season of The Kitchen Shrink, the show that believes if you’re having problems with your life, your house could use some TLC, too, we need to thank all of our contestants.”

  She looked over at us. I needed to go the bathroom. Really badly.

  “All of you should be very proud of yourselves. You have all proved to yourself and to us, that your hard work in getting your houses in order, helped get your lives back on track, too. Elbow grease meets the mental health police.” The crowd roared.

  Oh, crud. Who writes this stuff? I did kegel exercises to try to quench my urge to pee. How long can they drag this out? Surely they’ve run through their allotment of commercial breaks?

  “Drum roll, please?” Jenn-aye lifted her hand to the band. “Let’s see who gets another shot on The Kitchen Shrink.” She held up the paper to read. “Let’s find out who is moving on to continue on the ultimate home and life makeover journey…” she paused as saliva gathered in my mouth, “after the break.”

  Chapter 33

  After the Break

  They were bringing back Mark, thank God. Not me. I guess freak shows are more fun to watch and filled with drama. Elgin told me viewers prefer watching people they don’t like more than people they do. How weird is that? The old schadenfreude guilty pleasure of watching someone else getting taken down a peg or two, I guess.

  I dodged another bullet and can get on with my life. I can’t believe it, but my kids were disappointed we weren’t doing another show. Their reality is so self-centered and short-sighted. They finally found out about their dead goldfish, Orange Juice, on the fourth episode.

  Nicole has been growing up right before my eyes, and though we still bicker a lot, I really enjoy who she’s becoming. Ryan is headed to Cal State San Marcos, hallelujah, where it appears he plans to major in Guitar Hero.

  Since Elgin won, he was moving onto the next show to continue as a designer. I heard he was going to be in Santa Fe. May the force be with him. I mean his next victim. Although, you can bet your boots I will be watching to see what version of reality he comes up with next. (FYI, He was right about painting my bathroom brown. I’ve since repainted it a Tiffany blue with white trim.)

  Phil-O got back from his job in San Francisco and we had lunch together the other day. That’s all. I promise. If my daughter were older I’d probably try to fix them up. OK, that was gross. But I don’t have anyone to introduce him to, and he’s such a great guy. Really.

&nb
sp; I think my ex, Brett, wants to get back together with me. Even though I’m in a new enlightened state and trying to be open in my communications with the people in my life, I am so pretending not to understand his intentions. I like that he’s a part of our life with the kids, but that’s it. The reality is, I don’t hold a grudge, and I don’t want to hold his hand, either.

  Daria is still hot and heavy with the Martinator. Even though I can’t call him that anymore. Oof, I just got the shivers, and not in a good way. I may not understand their relationship or her attraction to him, but then again, that’s not my reality either, right? I’ve actually gone out to dinner with them several times and after those first awkward moments, when bad memories kept flashing through my mind to taunt me, I managed to find my manners. Etiquette is the way of dealing with things that shouldn’t have happened by pretending they didn’t.

  The Kitchen Shrink really did capture a snapshot of my life. It didn’t lie. It didn’t make up footage or put words in my mouth. But it did take liberties in editing, mixing things up, taking things out of context and producing a storyline that wasn’t necessarily my version of the truth. It didn’t capture everything that was going on in my life at the time, thank God.

  It did get me out of my comfort zone, that’s for sure...and maybe that’s what I need to do from time to time, because that’s where the good stuff is.

  The day after the grand finale of the show, when I was finally, truly, once and for all off the hook, I got a FedEx delivery. It was a box of cereal. Lucky Charms. From Sam. How lucky can one girl get?