My guilty pleasure

I have a guilty pleasure – a guilty, trashy, chagrin-ridden pleasure. It is one I admit to few people; when I do I squirm uncomfortably in anticipation of the reaction I will get. I expect disbelief, thinly veiled ridicule, a lowering of the estimation of my intelligence. I steel myself for comments like this: HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! *cough* That's, umm, nice! Yes, that was a direct quote.

So what is my semi-secret embarrassment? I watch The Bachelor. Shut up.

Why do I watch? Is it because I’m a hopeless romantic who believes that buffet dating is the way to find true love? Hell no. It’s because people can be appallingly, deliciously good at leaving their dignity at the door and prostrating themselves for a flower and a penis. It’s because this can be quite funny and entertaining, in a train wreck kind of way. It’s because I have a hard time turning away from a train wreck. It’s because I get satisfaction from thinking "I’ve been stupid over relationships, but thank god I’ve never been that stupid.” In public.

If you don’t think The Bachelor can be entertaining, you didn’t see what was, to paraphrase the host Chris Harrison, The Best First Episode Yet. Here is a bit of what happened:

Camera pans to floor, where we see a falsie.
Bachelor-Doer Wannabe: “OMG! There’s a boob on the floor! Who lost their boob?!”
Giggling and furtive looks abound.
Sober Bachelor-Doer Wannabe (to herself): “I’m not admitting to losing a boob.”
Drunken Boob-Losing Bachelor-Doer Wannabe (A.K.A. “Boob”): “OMG, my boob! I’ve been walking around with one boob all night! Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”
Because they're competitive hussies who want to see you make a boob of yourself? Just a thought.

Is it better to have half a boob or be half a boob? Rhetorical question.

Boob then takes the remaining boob out of her dress and throws it away, presumably hoping it will land on the floor where one of the other BDWs will slip on it, fall, hit the floor chest-first, and squish and deflate their real fake boobs. Take that, beotch!

Next up is the woman who apparently felt that nothing says “I want you” like displaying freaky body parts, so she proceeded to take off her shoe and reveal her webbed toes. That wasn’t enough, though; she wanted to make sure he would really appreciate this quality that was sure to forge a connection [Bachelor drinking game: take a swig every time someone talks about having a “connection”; you'll be plastered in 30 minutes.] and bring amazing things to their relationship, so she propped her naked foot up on the coffee table so he could get a better look. When her self-confessed “signature move” failed to get her a rose, she had this to say: “I don’t know what went wrong; I had one on one time with him, I was myself, I smiled, which usually gets guys pretty good, and nothing.” I could have told her that would happen. Men like a little mystery; you should hold off on revealing your assets. I always wait till at least the third date to bust out my double-jointed toes.

People, this is good television.