Other things that were everywhere in this premiere: house renovations, adorable children who are totally being raised to be self-sufficient and not at all being catered to hand and foot, lip gloss so slick you would buy a Honda Civic with 200,000 miles from it, flashbacks to Lisa Rinna annoying the s— out of everyone with ease, ponytails high enough to buy a bodega’s entire stock of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, a bounty of Househusbands, Erika’s creative director Mikey somehow both abbreviating and elongating every single word he says, and ever so many “plane moments.”

Atlanta may have the humor, and New York may have the grit, and Orange County may have whatever the hell Kelly Dodd is, but there is no match for the carnival of aesthetic riches that is The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills .

Rinna tells her teen model daughters that she has a vitamin-drip coming, and Delilah says, “Thank god, I love them,” in that droll California-teen voice that suggests a lifetime of mouth-breathing dry air and salt water.

But even that cough can’t top the shady editing of Rinna talking about how important she finds it to keep the girls grounded in their newfound success as they’re literally draped around her cavernous bedroom, silent scrolling Instagram while a concierge doctor gives them IVs and a nurse shoots their pimples up with cortisone.

Kyle, every producer’s favorite pet, proposes a girls’ trip to Vegas for the combined birthdays of Erika and Dorit, and when LVP reminds her that Rinna’s is also in that timeframe, they decide, sure, why not have three enemies celebrate their births together.