Once again, "The Bachelor" has had another finale, and once again, people are freaking because the guy made a choice.
In this case, he made a choice not to choose, and while all current reports are that this guy is allegedly a giant douche-bag, I have to say that proposing to someone you just chose by process of elimination after weeks of playing a very public field ranks right up there with beating your head against bunk beds until you faint, common-sense wise.
And as I've posted here before, what makes a girl think that a guy who's made out with a roomful of women before choosing you is a spectacular catch?
I know, I know. None of these people are really looking for love. They're looking for their fifteen minutes, and hoping love is the door prize. Unfortunately, life doesn't generally work that way. Out of twelve years of Bachelors (and Bachelorettes), they've provided only two real-life marriages each (and one of the Bachelors married his runner-up, not the girl he gave the rose to).
I'm going to develop a gritty new reality show called "Marry the Single Special-Needs Mom". Every week, we'll have a new single mom with a special-needs kid, drop her into a room of eligible men, and then we'll time them to see how fast they climb over each other to get out the door. Wouldn't that be a scream?
And then we'll hire her a sitter, and let her go on wild, extravagant dates all by herself, taking helicopter tours of Hawaii and dining by candlelight with a string quartet on the top of a mountain, getting massages in a cabana on a beach and sipping champagne in a hot tub - spoiling herself rotten for eight or nine weeks.
At the end, her kids can give her roses and remind her that she's worth all that, and more.
And then they'll all go back to their normal house with the obscene mortgage, and pay bills, and go to work, and spend every day doing all the little things that make real love real.
That's probably too much reality for most of the viewing audience, but I'm sure I've got a niche market out there somewhere.
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