Survivor -- Mean Mommies edition

My new read is Confessions of a prep school mommy handler, by Wade Rouse. I picked it up because I enjoyed reading his America's boy: a memoir.

Rouse is a gay man, Southern born and bred, hired as a PR director at a prestigious private school, and the book goes into details about his dealings with very pretty, very mean, very rich mommies of elite elementary students.

I'm enjoying it so far, although it's not exactly funny. Biting and sad, more likely. Never having been incredibly wealthy, I find it hard to imagine being so proudly shallow. I'd like to think I'd never cave in to the kind of peer pressure that forces me to wear pink every day, call my daughter Itsy Bitsy, or dress my teacup poodle in a matching outfit. But, having been a victim of my share of mean girls, it might be difficult to ignore the siren's song of popularity.

You want me to buy a Louis Vuitton handbag, wear a Lilly Pulitzer dress, and host a Botox party?

I can do that.

No, wait. I can't. I won't do that! Go away, mean mommies!

What I'd really like to see is a bunch of hyper-wealthy women stranded on a deserted island and watch as their civilized veneer is stripped away -- along with their four figure wardrobes -- their roots grow out into gray, and they start eating bark off the trees. Now that's the kind of reality TV I'd enjoy.