Dear Real Housewives of Atlanta,

I don't think I can watch you anymore.

Sure, I was never a huge fan; I certainly didn't seek you out or make you 'appointment television.'

But I would stop and stare if I stumbled upon you while flipping through the channels on a Sunday afternoon.  You provided entertainment while I would fold laundry or engage in some other innocuous task.

I just think it's best for me if we part ways.

While I've only seen a handful of your episodes, they seem to have an impact on me; and not in a good, 'inspire-me-to-become-a-humanitarian' way.  Rather, I've noticed that after I watch an episode, or even a part of one of your episodes, I have really ... aggressive... dreams.  There's no other word for it.

Usually, in my Real Housewives of Atlanta influenced slumber, I'm involved in an argument with someone over something stupid.  Sometimes, I'm directly involved in this argument and sometimes I'm just an observer.

I always hear the phrase "Bitch, please!" somewhere in my dreams nightmares. This is not restful.

I don't enjoy having visions of some wig-headed harpy attack me for, i don't know, drinking riesling over chardonnay.

So, for that reason, I think it's time we parted ways.  Please don't try to tease me with your Shogun-length  Reunion episodes.  Or any "lost" footage.  I'd prefer it to stay lost.  It's just better this way.  My husband can no longer take the wild snapping of my fingers at 2:30 am anymore.  It's over.

All the best,
Missynation.