I swore off watching “The Bachelor” about seven seasons back. I used to be SO into it. Addicted, really. The romance! The drama! The exotic dates! The Fantasy Suites! The heartbreak! The sobbing in the limo! I. Loved. It. All!!!
Believe me. I don’t blame you if you feel the desire to click away right now and read something that will enhance your intellect, rather than this drivel about — insert air quotes here — a reality show where thirty eleven women throw themselves at one man who ignores the advice you shout at him from the sofa and who never picks the right woman and in the end the one he does pick drops him like a hot potato once the spotlight fades to black. You read about their breakup on the cover of a tabloid at the check out counter in Target and you shake your head and say to your own man, “I knew it! Why do these men never listen to me?” to which your man looks at you with eyes glazed over and says, “Really?”
Yep. I quit. Cold turkey. But the other night, while scrolling through Facebook, I glimpsed something about a minority on The Bachelor! “What?” I thought to myself. I responded with something like, “We’ll see how long she lasts,” and figured that would be that…