THE TRUTH ABOUT ME AND THE BACHELOR

So there are a few reasons why Megoracle has been a bit void of intelligent material of late. A couple of them I can’t disclose (I know, mysterious hey; I love a bit of enigma) but one of them I will, even though I thought I should keep it well hidden under the guise of erudition and perspicacity (see I’m already breaking out the big words as I preempt your shrinking opinion of me).

But bugger it, after thorough introspection I have realised that I am not ashamed to say:

I am a very avid viewer of The Bachelor 2015.

bach

Okay so ‘avid’ may be an understatement. Try obsessed. But I won’t centre that and put it in bold because that actually might indicate weirdness beyond just lack of brain. Anyway…

I started watching it because last year I semi tuned in and then wished I’d fully tuned in when everyone was talking about the scandalous ending. Plus there is some truly hilarious commentary written by Rosie Waterland that just makes the show come alive (with peen etc) . And also because this year The Bachelor is a Tasmanian. And some of my friends know him and all. (A friend actually asked me whether I know him and without thinking I said, “Yes!” and then “No – wait, I so don’t”, because I feel like I do know him. Our Sam.

And then, the show pretty much had me at episode one, when Jacinda took a photo of Sam’s butt and Heather called him dude. And now I’d defend it ’til the cows come home (our cows come home twice daily so yep).

But actually I don’t buy the argument that this stuff is denigrating women and insulting television audiences with its trash factor. Because if you take this stuff seriously then you probably deserve a bit of denigration. I know full well I’m being manipulated by producers and editors and people wanting to raise their profile or push their brand, but sometimes, when production tricks and the sorcery of television hits the right note, I forget I’m being manipulated and get right in there with the story. And that’s when the magic happens people, that’s what gets the media speculating and the glossy mags pumping and the rumours tumouring. And the conversation going.

The conversation and the laughter is my most favourite thing about this show. Rosie Waterland assists with  the laughter, but most of the women on that show manage to up the comedy stakes on their own. My phone pings with texts from my friends all through the show and I’ve even found kindred and willing bachie-discussionists in my children’s teachers. All of them are laughing and thinking and talking and smiling and I know it’s not save-the-world-stuff or what-are-you-doing-about-the-Syrians but jeez, in this cruel world where the majority of people are either in serious danger or obsessed with themselves, there is absolutely nothing wrong with a bit of theatre.

My friends and I had to go into deep email discussion given the intensity of last’s night’s episode (in which the general consensus was that Our Sam is not, after all that, likely to find The One) and the texting was just as intense. Poor husband-farmer did the washing up and went to bed he was so neglected (and possibly disillusioned i.e. “Who is this woman on my couch?”).

Here is a sample of some of last night’s correspondence:

“Her hair is like an appendage…I just want to mess it all up”

“Methinks the Macedonian brother scared her off for good”

“What the hell is Warwick taking – philosophy classes?”

“How are blonde grow-outs even possible?”

“Sam deserves better – a 40 yer old in a pair of drawstring track pants perhaps?”

“Holy shit, I can’t take the violins much longer”

I explained to husband today (once the shock of Heather’s exit and the tirade of texts had subsided and I was able to talk reason) that it’s grand final season and given that I mostly take charge of the children while he watches the footy grand finals, this is my grand final. If we want to get all critical about a bunch of women in a mansion with fake wisteria getting grievous about roses, then what’s with the sweaty men chasing a bit of leather and getting all grunty in the change room?

And today I laughed to a woman about how I was still responding to Bachelor emails and she said, “Oh I don’t watch that”. Later, when the Syrian crisis came up in conversation she said, “It’s asking for trouble letting them all in, what if one of them blows us up”.

All the good people watch the bachelor. #gobachiepeen

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Categories: Navelgazery

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1 reply

  1. Don’t frett, my daughter was with Batchie for 2 1/2 years. She had to ‘kiss and release’
    Heather… winner winner winner

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