Pot. Kettle. Black.

Oh, this is just too rich…

One of the local radio stations had an interview this morning with one of the jilted participants in the recent ABC farce, The Bachelor (i.e., Who Wants to Marry a Multimillionaire? but somehow classier, in theory, because it wasn’t on FOX? Whatever…). The DJs—especially the female one—were gushing over how this woman was somehow above it all because she wouldn’t give in to the bachelor’s sexual overtones. As if, I guess, she was looking for something deeper and more substantial from all this.

Get real. The Bachelor was nothing but a game show where the object of the “game” was to be picked by some goober. And last time I checked, she entered into this willingly. So, what, this was her idea of the right way to meet a man? This was what she felt was the best way to establish a meaningful (i.e., talk first, boink later) relationship? My god, but how daft is this woman? She—and the twenty some odd other participants—were doing nothing more than prostituting themselves for this guy, hoping to (maybe?) become Mrs. Right. That’s it. You can try to make it sound somehow more glamorous or more virtuous than that, but that’s all that it was. So tell me again why she was so surprised…?

Let’s hold off on the “atta girl!” back slaps. There was nothing dignified or morally upstanding about how she presented herself—the most charitable way to put it would be that she was the best of a sorry lot, and even that would have to be prefaced with a big “maybe”. She got exactly what she deserved and should have known exactly what she was getting [into]. Any disappointment is her own damn fault.