Real love

I wish it weren’t so, but my teenage daughter is hooked on the tv show “The Bachelor.”  Call it middle age experience or possibly cynicism, but every week when she catches up on the latest episode on Saturdays, I troll about the kitchen muttering all sorts of things to myself.  She usually has to pause the dvr and say, “Ok.  Mom.  Stop already. I get that you don’t like this show.”  I refuse to apologize.  I fear that this generation is not going to know what real love is all about.  This show is anything but ‘reality tv.’  First, I feel it takes women back to the years where our only option in life was to marry well.  I watch these women preparing themselves for their presentation to the guy, gathering in a big room in slinky dresses to sip champagne, giving nasty glances to the competition and bashing the other girls any chance they can get.  Charles Darwin would have a field day.  My other problem is how easily they throw out the three little words.  Raquel (all names have been changed to protect the innocent, but actually I have no idea what their names are) today said, “I am finally going to tell Chaz that I love him.”  And then Chaz proclaims how he feels that he really is falling in love with two of the women.  What?  Please!  These people have no idea what real love looks like. I would like to see a Bachelor episode with a little relationship reality.  How about having the guy pass gas in front of her after a couple of chilli burritoes?  That always takes the relationship to a new level.  How about he finally comes home after two weeks of recording and leaving the bachelorette to take care of the kids (ok for the show they could put her in charge of 2 baby goats,  but they have to be in the house) and then he decides that he needs to get away from it all with the guys in the band for a little ski-trip-male-bonding. Yes.  That happened to me once.   Ask me if it ever happened again.  How about she works all day and then he snores all night, but doesn’t want her to sleep on the couch or go to the guest room because it makes him more secure to have her body next to him in bed.  Yes.  This happened off and on for 20 years. I finally learned to hold his nose until he stopped breathing and then he miraculously would stop snoring.  I really wasn’t trying to kill him.  Wink…wink.   I think Americans would enjoy watching this reality show.  Gosh….snoring, selfishness and flatulence.  Do I miss this?  Maybe a little bit. 

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