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Take This Rose ... and Shove It!
By Gloria Diaz
Check out Gloria's Blog — Edge of Gloria!
Fort Wayne Reader
For some reason, I’m watching The Bachelor and even though this is “reality” television, I know it’s as fake as a porn star’s boobs. This show HAD to have been dreamed up by a man: 25 women scheming for one guy. I guess that’s high up on every dude’s fantasy list: to have women tearing each other apart for the opportunity to do him. I can’t quite believe a handsome airline pilot who appears financially solvent has problems meeting women, nor can I believe the 25 women, even the 31-year-old who is determined to stand out among the “young 21, 22, and 23 year olds,” have problems finding men.
Looks have a lot to do with meeting someone, but it isn’t the end all be all. For some, it is. Some people will go out with someone gorgeous even if that person has the intelligence of a rock. Weight is another issue. A life coach doubted I’d be able to find someone to date considering my heft. Obviously, she doesn’t live in the Midwest. I’ve met women who would be considered morbidly obese who are either in a relationship, used to be in a relationship, or have men after them. In my case, it was a number of things: poor self-esteem, being way too picky, and not making an effort to encounter the type of men I was attracted to. Problem was, when the type of man you’re interested in likes to spend time home alone, where can you meet them? During a door to door search?
I could never be on The Bachelor. I like to compete, but only in areas where I’m confident I can kick ass. I couldn’t even be on More To Love, which Robert and I nicknamed “Fat Bachelorette.” But it’s sort of fun to watch this kind of stuff on TV or at a bar, particularly if the woman in question weighs 250 pounds and the guy she’s after weighs 140 soaking wet. I’ve seen those kinds of couples at the mall: freakishly tall men with nearly dwarfish women, Jabba the Hutt looking women with anorexic men; dirty-looking men with well-groomed women. You never know what rings people’s chimes. There are men into all sorts of women: fat, thin, blonde, brunette, Goth, cheerleader, librarian-looking types… the list and combinations are infinite. Obviously I watch too much TV and read too many magazines, because I automatically assumed because I don’t look like Angelina Jolie or Jessica Simpson, no one would go out with me. I realize I need to adjust my thinking, but one thing I’m not going to budge on is my physical preference when it comes to men: dark hair, dark eyes, and a refusal to mention NASCAR unless the guy is making fun of it.
But programs like The Bachelor and Bachelorette are junk food for the eyes. The declarations: “I deserve Jake.” “If he doesn’t choose me, I’m going to die.” “I’ve had so many disappointments in my life … (sniff, sob) I have to have Jake.” The corny opening lines. The tricks to get the bachelor to touch the women: “feel this? I got hit with a softball when I was ten and the lump never went away.” Trust me lady, the lumps he wants to touch aren’t located on your leg.
Even the name: The Bachelor is glossy, like calling a garbage man a “sanitation engineer.” Let’s call it for what it is: Husband Hunt. How a guy can meet 25 women, spend a couple minutes with each of them, and make a decision on which one to “keep” is beyond me. For as precious as love is supposed to be, this show makes a mockery of relationships. But maybe that’s the appeal: beautiful people can have a hard time hooking up, just like the ordinary people, and break up, just like ordinary people. The show is people’s fantasy of how they’d like their dating life to be: excursions to exotic locales, nice clothes, and good jobs. In reality, we stay at home watching videos, our clothes are 10 years old or come from thrift stores, and we work three part-time jobs that involve dialogue, such as “paper or plastic?” or “thank you for shopping at ______.” In short, it’s unglamorous, blue-collar and REAL.
But if they ever did a more downscale Bachelor show, I’d tune in. An overweight chick in her forties hunting for a boyfriend, who works three jobs (one of which is in the service sector) tearfully declaring she “MUST HAVE HIM, or she’ll die”? Classic. Call it Real Fat Bachelorette. And I’ll be tuning in.