Conspiracy, maybe. A coalition of women who knew what they were giving up to have the lives they had, and who knew they had to stick with each other or they would drown. (It's silly, but the only reason I'm remembering this is that the song "Barons Of Suburbia" by every young gay boy's best friend came on shuffle yesterday, and I've always associated that song with this particular thing. This imaginary show.) Humorous, sure, slapsticky even. But sexy too, and packing heat.
And the promo art for the show every year trades on that, whether there's an Edie or a Renee for them to align themselves against, it's always the same imagery every season: Beauty and danger and family and friendship, all at once. Roses becoming knives. Secrets becoming weapons. Women lining up.
This idea that every single cul-de-sac has secrets, and pain -- and that it's up to us to be strong enough, and smart enough, to keep everybody alive. That the desperation of the housewife is not only understandable, but eminently conquerable. That the desperation of the housewife is a healthy response to the desperation of our country, and our men, but only tells the beginning of the story.
And you know, in seven years I've never felt that from the show itself. And while I don't think it's possible for this show to be as good even as that first season, I do find it a little satisfying that we're finally looking that conspiracy in the face. Because honestly, it's what's going to save us in the end: Absolute loyalty, and the willingness to get our hands dirty. The two things they've been training out of us since we were little.
Even just a little glimpse, through the cracked doors and shuttered windows and general dumbness of this mean, hateful show: That's worth something, right?
I just wish that was a feeling we could send ourselves, back through time. If you could know what it's like to be okay, before you actually figure out that you are okay. But that's a little like sending yourself plans for a time machine: You have to tell the story to get to the end of the story. You have to drop the word, before you can get to the end of your sentence.