Kenya Moore is twirling her messy ass back to the Real Housewives of Atlanta after taking a season to have a baby with her very real and not imaginary husband, Marc Daly. If only they could make Michael Rapaport a Housewife. I would like nothing more to see Kenya take her newly polished scepter and twirl it all over his goofy face.
People is reporting:
Get ready to twirl again — Kenya Moore is coming back to the Real Housewives of Atlanta!
Sources tell PEOPLE that the former Miss USA has signed a contract to once again appear as a Housewife on the hit Bravo reality franchise’s upcoming twelfth season.
“It’s going to be a great season,” an insider says.
Another source adds: “Kenya isn’t wasting time reminding everyone why she’s reality TV gold.”
“Reality TV gold” is code for morally corrupt fame whore and I’m all the way here for it. We need a solid villain on these shows and Kenya is has delivered time and time again. In fact, she’s the reason they are no longer allowed to have props on a reunion shows. Imagine, grown women are no longer allowed to carry things on reunion shows, all because of Messy Kenya. She confirmed the news on her Instagram:
Reportedly, Kenya was dropped from RHOA because she kept her wedding to Marc Daly from Bravo’s cameras and didn’t really let Bravo film them. Look if reality TV has taught us anything, it’s that it only strengthens a marriage. Kenya might not show her husband much but she will be showing her baby, Brooklyn Doris to the viewers.
How much Daly will appear on RHOA season 12 remains to be seen, but another member of the Moore family will likely make an appearance: her 8-month-old daughter Brooklyn Doris.
Moore and Daly’s first child was born on Nov. 4, after a high-risk pregnancy that included multiple health scares and led to an emergency cesarean section.
Oh Brooklyn, you have a lot of life lessons coming up with these Atlanta peaches. Babies tend to be great at pulling hair and scream/crying over nothing so I’m sure she will fit right in. Hopefully Kenya will show her how to have so much body confidence that you believe you are mistaken for Beyoncé and the wig pulling skills of a drunk Shereé Whitfield.