I watched the last episode of this seasons The Bachelor and the After the Final Rose last night.
I can't understand the Bachelor. Not the people that are watching it, mind you,that I completely understand. In fact my girlfriends and I used to get
together every Monday with our popcorn and treats and settle in for a
night of laughing, embarrassment and yes, even romance.
What I never understand is how all of those women seem so shocked when
they aren't picked. I'm not talking about the crazies. Everyone, but
they understands why they're going home. By the way, I've noticed a trend
in regards to the crazies. They happen to stick around just a little too
long for it to be believable. I get that you want drama, but at some
point you're just making the Bachelor look like an imbecile.
No, I'm talking about all the other girls - the ones that make it almost
to the end and say, "I don't understand why this keeps happening to
Wait, What? This keeps happening to you? How many other times have you
been competing for the same guy with 24 other girls in different exotic
locations around the world? I get what you're saying, but Ladies here's
the thing. You're in a proverbial Las Vegas and you keep heading for the
table with the absolute worst odds in the joint. You know the revolving
platform with the six figure car on top that no one really wins? Stop
playing for it! Yes, this is weird for a Mormon to be using Vegas as a dating metaphor, but relax-it's just that; a metaphor.
Anyway. Bachelorette's, as I was saying, look around, it's time to get smart. Play the slot machine. See all the
women kicking back with their 80th drink, their credit card hooked to a
chain on their belt stuck in the slot machine where it's been since
they arrived two days previously? That's your ticket. Yes, it's not
attractive. No, it's not glamorous and Yes, you have to play it continuously, but, you actually win
sometimes! And here's the best part--you can play the slots looking your
worst. In fact, it's almost expected. When you head for the six figure car, you go looking like a Bond girl.
Not so with the slots. Feel free to head on over in your jammies.
You don't even have to compete. There are plenty of slot machines for
everyone. Girls, for the love, you're gorgeous. Some of you are smart and
some of you are mostly normal. Granted, after a few of those public cry
fests and fights, you may need to go into hiding for a little while to
clear your image, but it's not your fault. It isn't fair that millions
of Americans had a front row seat to your numerous breakdowns. The
rest of us get to save those moments of crazy for when we're married and
pregnant, throwing up on the bathroom floor; mascara running down our
faces from the ugly cry. That's when most men find out that we're
all crazy sometimes, but by then it's too late.
So girls take control of your relationships. Play it safe - play the slots. Then sit back, relax and wait for that "ding, ding, ding" sound when that triple hits and you've finally won.
And to you-the woman who is literally playing the slots; the one that's
left your credit card in the machine for two days. Do yourself a favor
and just let someone steal your card. You'll probably lose a lot less
money that way. Hit the buffet. It's free and there's only about a 50
percent chance that you'll regret it later.