Why I watch The Bachelorette
As I sat home last night on a futon, drinking my wine, and reveling in my lactiferous
peanut butter pie, I wondered why I was also burdening myself with The Bachelorette.
The Bachelorette is not compelling television, it does not suspend you with twists and turns (as many times as Chris Harrison says ‘in our most shocking rose ceremony to date!’—you will not
be shocked), and it is not jam packed with dudes worth ogling over.
What The Bachelorette does give me is a plethora of opportunities to proclaim my superiority over another woman. There. I said it.
This bachelorette—and every bachelorette prior—have one thing in common. Well, two. They rock barely there swimsuits and they’re very sweet. That’s all. Those are the two casting components for this show. Oh, and they also must love really buff overly animated and overly sensitive dudes. So three casting components. A genie granted someone’s wishes with this one.
And now, onto why I'm superior.
The bachelorette is neither as tough nor cool as I am.
Each time the bachelorette looks into a lonely dude’s eyes and listens to him proclaim his love for her, she giggles. Full on fits of giggles with a side of “awwwww, that’s so sweet!” These women have regressed to pigtails and rompers.
Come on girl. You’re making women look fluffy. Tell that jacked up weepy guy that he can’t possibly love you in one day and to get his ass back to the sausage party. Or just call his bluff and drag in a minister to perform the wedding ceremony immediately. He’ll run. Guaranteed. If he doesn’t, at least make sure you picked the millionaire.
The bachelorette has lower standards than I do.
When the bachelorette and her date happen upon an open field where a “celebrity” artist is performing his new “hit” single for advertising’s sake, she throws her hands around her date’s neck in hysterics of glee squealing, “this is sooooo sweet!” Seriously. The pigtails and rompers again.
Tell those producers that you’ve never heard of this one hit wonder and that if they want to get you excited they should bring out Usher. Ursher babyyy.
The bachelorette does not prize her lips, as I do mine. That dirty girl.
You can see the cringe on her face as certain bros lean in for the smack attack. The fear in her little girl eyes. These guys are stealing kisses like stealing candy from a baby.
Push that dude back! Whoa buddy, let’s slow this spaceship down. I’d tell him to grab a stick of gum, chill those penetrating eyes, and maybe we can try this again in a week.
So the bottom line and the lesson learned here is simply—I’m better than this giggly, bubbly bachelorette. That seems to be Monday night success right there.
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