The Bachelorette.

“I have here in my hand, a single rose.  Unfortunately, no one will be getting it tonight because I don’t actually know any of you losers. You all are awful people. I hate you. And myself. And this show.”

Needless to say, I would be the worst Bachelorette. Ever.

After being peer pressured into watching an episode of The Bachelorette this week, I have lost copious amounts of faith in the human race.

Putting twenty some guys in a mansion, giving them unlimited amounts of alcohol and having them compete for the attention and love of one girl who is desperately lonely was a bad idea.* Who came up with this horseshit? It’s trashy TV filled with beautiful people so desperate for fame they will pretend to fall in love while millions of peeping toms ogle at their “romance” on television.

There it is. I’ve just shit on the Bachelor Franchise. Oops.

I hate it so much, but I love to hate it. It’s so bad. It’s like NASCAR. People watch it to see other people crash and burn—and boy do they burn. We cringe, but we love it. We know we love it.

Like most viewers of the show, I have given more thought than I would like to admit as to what it would be like to be the object of two dozen guy’s attention. I didn’t get too far into the daydream until I realized that I would actually hate being the Bachelorette.

I deem myself the most awkward person I know. I have major difficulties making small talk with people I’ve never met before and it is very evident and uncomfortable to all parties involved. If that person is beautiful or intimidating, regardless of gender, the phenomena increased tenfold. My armpits start perspiring and my mind goes blank. I panic. I say strange things. I creep people out. It’s a problem. I’m working on it.

When I’m comfortable with someone, I would like to think I’m delightful. However, before that stage I could save myself a lot of damage by just not talking. It’s better to be known as mysterious than f***ing weird. Keeps ‘em wanting more.

Being in a house full of beautiful men–none of which I know– would be another level of hell for me. I would dig myself into so many holes by saying unintentionally weird or offensive things. By the end I would be one big human armpit stain. Just thinking about it is making me sweaty.

Then I considered the pool I’m choosing from. I highly doubt that the men on the Bachelorette applied for the show to settle down and find a wife. They are just beautiful fools. Historically, Bachelor relationships fail. I don’t think I would even want to end up with a man whose values, personality etc. led them to be considered a good candidate for the Bachelorette.

I have so many doubts about the system. What if I didn’t like any of them? What if my soul mate was cast for the previous season and I ended up settling for the least awful person? What if someone who was just acknowledging my weirdness for good TV ended up as my husband was actually a huge douchebag and I had no idea because I was too busy keeping a slew of other guys and America entertained?

All that being said, it’s appealing to be sought after by so many. In a twisted way, the show reminded me of Gone With the Wind.

In the beginning, pretty much everyone wants in Scarlett’s pants. She’s smoking hot (in 1800s terms), but she’s actually a giant pain in the ass. (I imagine she has these things in common with the Bachelorette.) The key difference is Scarlett, unlike The Bachelorette, had competition. Scarlett could have lassoed a handsome beau without lifting a finger, but the only man she was convinced could make her happy was already claimed.**

What I’m trying to say is there’s a huge flaw in the show. Everyone but the Bachelorette has competition. The desire to win clouds legitimate desire. If the Bachelorette decides a guy is an asshole she sends them home. If the guy decides the Bachelorette is a raging bitch, but still wants to win, he’s going to have to fake it ‘till he makes it.

So what I’ve learned:

Life is not the Bachelor. A relationship cannot fit nicely into ten one hour episodes on a Monday night. It could take years and it probably will. All of my potential eligible bachelors will not be living together in a mansion*** and competing for my love. I have competition and I’m glad. I’m not looking for a husband. I’m just looking for a male best friend who I can also watch sunsets and make out with, is preferably a little less than drop dead gorgeous, over six feet tall, enjoys art museums, understands what being a rower entails, has read all the Harry Potter books, and won’t judge me for eating more than him. **** I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.

*I know she’s lonely because during filming she’s basically locked in an ivory tower (ok a hotel) all day until she’s unleashed on the men. Plus she signed up to be the Bachelorette after all, so that’s a pretty real indicator of desperation.

**If that was a spoiler, frankly, I don’t give a damn. You should have read the book. Or watched the movie, but preferably the book.

***It’s the boathouse, not a mansion. (JOKES)

****Currently accepting applications for this summer’s romantic interest. Those with interest should know where to find me.


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