First, let me just get the confession out of the way. Yes, I succumbed to watching this season of The Bachelor.
I don’t how or why it happened, but it happened. I’ve been watching the unpolished turbulence unfold every Monday night for the last several weeks while shaking my head and rolling my eyes through every one hundred-twenty minute episode.
There, I said it.
Phew. I feel so much better now that I’ve admitted to contributing my part to the Nielsen ratings in this horrendous, beyond ridiculous, not even remotely realistic guilty pleasure called Bachelor Nation.
While we’re on the subject of confessing, I might as well come clean about how old it makes me feel to watch this
train wreck notoriously popular television soap opera show. At the start of each segment I say to myself silently, “Okay at the next commercial I’m definitely turning on CNN. Don’t we have an election coming up; shouldn’t I be brushing up on who’s leading the polls in the caucuses and primaries?” Yet somehow it seems clicking the channel back to real life is oddly reminiscent to the scenario which plays out at 5:37 every morning when my alarm goes off and I say to myself silently, “One more snooze. Just one more snooze.” Next thing I know, it’s time to hand out the roses which ultimately means a gaggle of rejected girls will drive away in the back of a pimped out black SUV sobbing their eyes out with snot running down their noses as they try to form a cohesive, articulate sentence to answer questions they’ve been asked from a phantom crisis counselor show producer who’s trying to evoke even more drama keep them from knifing themselves while on pre-recorded so they can do as many takes necessary to get the right shot television. Obviously, I’ve completely missed Anderson Cooper but I’m so perplexed with next week’s scenes that promise to be thee most intense of thee most dramatic season ever that I can hardly see straight! I’m sure Savannah and Hoda will catch me up in the morning with what’s cooking on the campaign trail.
That said, I would be the world’s worst contestant on this cockamamie show. Age aside, because let’s face it, these
children women are practically young enough to be my offspring, I would never nor could never expose myself on national television in such a preposterous way to win meet my future husband and here’s why:
Six Unpolished Reasons Why I’d Be The Worst Contestant On ABC’s The Bachelor
6. I don’t have fifty-two changes of clothes all of which include pageant dresses. I mean, I guess I could borrow the gowns my mommy friends wore to their kids’ Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, but if that option fails, I’ll have nothing to wear on the show.
5. Where would I live? I’ve broken out in hives at the mere idea of traveling with a group of women I already know for one of those MOM-umental sistah trips of a lifetime to Israel. Thank you, but no thank you. I would be the worst contestant on The Bachelor because I could never live in the same
sorority house amongst other students women I didn’t know. EVER.
4. Look, I can’t say the dates suck. They actually seem right up my alley. I am an adventurous
cougar catch if I do say so. I’m totally down for sky-diving; totally down for bungee jumping; totally down for mountain hiking and biking and off-road ATV-ing. Wanna go skiing? I’m in. Wanna hop a plane to Africa and safari it up? I’m your girl for all of it, assuming of course I’ve been cleared by my cardiologist and my living will is in order. But I’d still be the worst contestant on The Bachelor because the show doesn’t seem to focus on the dates where you just stay home after a long day at work and watch Netflix. What about the dates where The Bachelor offers to grab the dry cleaning or pay the exterminator or bring the garbage can up from the curb? “Hey Babe? Can you empty the dishwasher?” Do you think there’s a date where The Bachelor offers to do the carpool pick up on the back end of an evening when your kid needs a ride home at 11:30pm? “Hey Hon? My back is killing from today’s climb. I wanna take a Percocet and get into bed. You don’t mind driving, right? How come they don’t show those dates?
3. I would starve to death. It’s hard to compete for a man on an empty stomach. I mean, I guess if I was on CBS’s Survivor (stay tuned because that idea may actually become a reality of mine someday soon) I would learn how to live each day as if if was Yom Kippur, but for the purposes of this show, how come there’s never a scene with the
toddlers young ladies eating their Gerber’s F-Factor approved lunches and chowing on flax seed crackers? How could I be a contestant on The Bachelor without my fiber cookies? Exactly, I couldn’t. I’d be the worst!
2. Speaking of compete, um, how can I put this mildly? WHO COMPETES FOR A MAN? ESPECIALLY IN TODAY’S WORLD. WTF? I DON’T SHARE. EVER. YOU LIKE ME OR YOU DON’T. I’M YOURS OR I’M NOT. PERIOD. THE END. A show on television with a
plot twist premise of the complete contrary continues to amaze me. Single teeny-boppers millennials willingly sign up to vie for one boy man on national television and watch the affection turn to rejection over and over and over as the contestants drop like flies while viewers at home salivate over their derailment. God help us bless the American Broadcasting Company. If I was a producer on the show, I’d have Oprah Winfrey come by to knock some women’s empowerment sense into these girls’ skulls!
1. Speaking of flies, flies remind me how diseases can be carried either airborne or otherwise and germs that spread rampant potentially leading to the contraction of more disease. I WOULD BE THE WORST CONTESTANT ON THE BACHELOR because I’m a complete and utter germaphobe! Dovetailing off of Top Reason #2, I DON’T SHARE, I would never be able to function knowing my practically-almost-fiancé [because we have the strongest connection and he’s totally picking me to be his
winner wife] threw it down in the fantasy suite with my adversarial sorority sister new best friend less than 24 hours after he told me he loved me and could clearly see our future together! Um, hello? Isn’t anyone worried? STD’s much? In this instance I don’t mean to give slang shade to the Sigma Delta Tau girls; what I really mean is sexually transmitted diseases! I guess the silver lining for the losing contestants would be the consolation prize of going home with only a mild case of mononucleosis from all the kissing. Hey, at least that beats getting chlamydia!
JUST TO LET YOU KNOW…. The show is unpolishedly absurd but evidently addicting. Admittedly, I’ll be tuned in to see what happens next as the season comes to a close and I’m sure you will too. But you know what I think inevitably happens After The Final Rose? What always happens…. The couple breaks up and they’re a couple no more. They’re gonorrhea!!!!!
For all the secrets, spoilers, scandals and unpolished conspiracy theories on who’s who and what’s what, CLICK HERE!!!!!!