Another season of The Bachelor, America's guilty pleasure, is underway. If you want to know why I watch this show, the answer is ... I have no idea. I spend most of the 2 hours in a complete state of mind numbing boredom. I spend a small portion of that time wondering how the girls get their hair so shiny. I am pretty positive there is a gene for shiny hair that only 1% of the population has. I can't have close relationships with those types of people. Also, about half of that 1% will find themselves on The Bachelor.
For those who have never seen The Bachelor - what the what!? - tune in now! (why? ... again I have no idea) 25 women (or men if it's The Bachelorette) vie for the affection of some random schlub that usually looks like a soap opera extra (except for that whole Ben mishap). Their personality usually resembles maple syrup, but occasionally you get a really charming Southern guy with chiseled abs that makes that acceptable. Maple Syrup Charlie takes the ladies on extravagant dates Mickey Mouse of ABC pays for, chooses one to marry that Neil Lane gifts with a giant diamond ring, and they fall in love under false pretensions inside the bubble of production schedules. The girls are consistently made-up of only three categories of annoy: Overly-chipper, the "I don't have girl friends type of women that believe they have a partial Y chromosome and are above double Xs, and ex-strippers.
In sum, three sentences that explain the Bachelor:
"I'm out of my comfort zone."
"I'm here for [INSERT WASPY NAME HERE], I'm not here to make friends."
"I never thought I'd feel this way coming here."