I haven’t had television in years. Instead I read. Inspiring literature, books, magazines, and papers (The Intelligent Optimist, National Geographic, E magazine, and The Wall Street Journal). I’m the girl who turns guys off at bars by probing, much too quickly, into their deep thoughts on important issues. “You’re cute! How do you feel about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict?” Blank stare. Quick aversion and departure. And, sadly, I’m a midwestern girl. I’ve never lived in DC where, perhaps, these questions may play well…
In my single days, my successfully flirtatious friends were always telling me to lie about my profession (lawyer/business owner), tell guys I am a nail technician, and talk in a baby voice. These, apparently, are keys to success in the dating word.
But, I was never willing to play these games. I fancy myself an intellectual, and I figure if a guy is capable of intriguing someone like me, he better be able to appreciate someone like me. After all, you can’t teach a guy who loves the five dollar chop steak and miller lite special to really appreciate an aged filet mignon paired with the perfect vintage of red wine.
So, it embarrasses me to publicly proclaim that I am obsessed with The Bachelor and The Bachelorette series(eses). For whatever reason…perhaps my stunted (nonexistent) highschool dating life; perhaps my undying fascination with humans of the opposite sex (I was the 3 y/o preschooler chasing the boys around the gymnasium daring all of them to kiss me on the lips)…I can’t tear myself away from the show on Monday nights.
I know it is vapid. I know it is unrealistic. And, yes, I realize that almost all of these relationships fail.
Nonetheless, I am filled with excitement as I wait anxiously to meet, at 8:00 p.m. tonight, all of the eligible bachelors DeZ will have to parse through in order to find truly lasting, truly impenetrable, TRUE love.
My boyfriend HATES the twenty weeks a year during which these shows broadcast. Because he hates the shows. And he can’t keep his mouth shut during them. Even if he’s “ignoring the show” by sitting in the other room, he is yelling negative commentary and ruining my two hours of ecstasy. So, now my routine is to retire into my bedroom with a nice glass of wine, lock and barricade the door, and turn the volume up so nothing he says can penetrate my bubble of hedonistic pleasure.
Bring it Bachelors! I am (I mean Desiree is) ready for you.