The latest episode of More to Love (The Fatchelor) is priceless. If you haven’t been watching, just skip the other episodes and start here.
We begin with the standard gratuitous shots of the sunrise, the mountains, and cut to “average reality show females” in bikinis and tight little after-five dresses and learn that they are all a size two. Then we cut to the “average American woman” and learn that she’s a size fourteen. There may be some statistic out there that says the average woman is, in fact, a size 14. I can’t dispute that. I’m not an actuary. However, for the women on this show 14 is the number of kolaches they eat for breakfast. None of them even approach a size 14. These girls are so big they make Lane Bryant look like Forever 21. (Yes, I’m in touch with my feminine side).
I promised not to take any cheap shots, but I want to make a point. As this show sluggishly and painfully pushes on it is clear that the many of the women on it have significant emotional scars which lead them to eat in the first place. Some of the women are just “big girls” relatively comfortable in their own big skin. Ironically, these are the girls that seem to be getting booted every week by the dolt with the rings. We are constantly reminded by the “winners” who do receive rings about how miserable their lives are at home, how they have been rejected by every person, have never been on dates, etc. Nice job, Fox. And to think, I thought harnessing a bunch of midgets to an airplane and having them pull it down the runway or having a black guy race a zebra was in poor taste. (Remember that show?)
Incidentally, is “bunch of midgets” the correct way to refer to a gathering of little people? There’s a gaggle of geese, a murder of crows, a flock of seagulls, and so on. I’ll have to look into that. To be accurate, there were some dwarves mixed in with the midgets on that show. Yes, there is a difference. I’m certain of that. Dwarfism is a hereditary genetic disorder that results in short height and disproportionate body parts. Being a midget is not necessarily genetic but can be caused by nutritional deficiencies and is characterized by short height, not disproportionate body parts. Dwarf is a medical term. Midget (these days) is generally an insult. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Wizard of Oz, Over the Rainbow, and Foul Play are all movies that feature both kinds of little people, two of which star Chevy Chase (odd).
Annnnnyhooooo . . .
After the lead ins and recaps the Fatchelor begins this week by inviting the women to “get their sexy selves” down to the living room to find him standing there with that vacant look on his face in front of a bunch of presents. He gives an insincere and awkward speech about missing out on things (presumably activities and not meals) because of being heavy. There is a chorus of sighs and “he so understands me” looks. Luke announces that he will be taking the women to prom and that the boxes are filled with dresses made especially for the larger ladies. Luke then leaves to go rent a tux and the room becomes a jiggling mess of cankles and crepe paper as the women tear through the wrapping and begin trying on the dresses. Come on. Are we to believe that the dresses were actually in the boxes? The Von Trapp family would not have had enough curtains to make one of the dresses. The women eventually cram themselves into the gowns and head off to the biggest limo I’ve ever seen to go to the prom. Watching the actual prom was like watching that pre-recorded New Year’s Eve show that’s always on opposite of Dick Clark. It seemed forced and rehearsed and was probably filmed in the mid-morning. Prom nonetheless. Two of Luke’s “boys” show up unexpectedly and we are informed that they are there to pick a winner for a one-on-one date with Luke. One of his buddies looked like a really fat Sammy Hagar and the other looked like Michael Vick. Both agreed on Danielle as his big date (pun intended).
Now it may seem like I sped through that. I didn’t mention the crying, the “I’ve never danced before," the “I never imagined going to prom”, or the “I was the fat girl in a limo full of couples and had to borrow a date for pictures so I could show my mom” story. All of that is window dressing compared to the one-on-one date with Danielle. I can hardly type fast enough to get it all out.
When Danielle is selected, the reaction of the other women is pure reality show gold. Rolling eyes, clenched jaws, hems, haws, and I swear I heard a moo. Clearly, she’s hated by the other women. Why, you ask? Apparently, she’s known for “unladylike behavior” which they all overtly hope that Luke will soon discover. At this point, I had my doubts. It reminded me of when Wes was the first one invited to the house by Jillian on the Bachelorette. That was preceded by a montage of the men (mostly of that dildo Jake) complaining about Wes not being there “for the right reasons” (although I think he was the only one there for the right reason). They complained about Wes ad nauseam, praying that Jillian would see him for who he really is. No dice. She bought his act. I suspected the same thing would occur here. Oh no. Not even close.
Luke begins his confessional prior to the date by saying that he was surprised that his buddies chose Danielle because she was not “at the top of my list”. Classic. Translation: my buddies are a-holes and I can’t believe they chose her. Danielle wallows in her victory like hog in slop, pisses off the girls at the house, and heads out for the date. She immediately begins by talking and talking and talking and talking about how she’s never been on a second date. Luke is clearly horrified. He takes her to a lovely seafood restaurant on the water overlooking the place where Heather puked over the dock last week. “I don’t eat seafood,” is her revelation. Solid. More to Love? Nope. More to Eat . . . for Luke that is. Cut to Luke awkwardly eating calamari and drinking wine. When Danielle wasn’t talking and talking and talking she was pounding booze like an Irish sailor on leave and stuffing her face with chocolate covered bananas (very subtle, reality TV producers). It was like watching someone pack all of her belongings into a station wagon. Stuff and talk and drink and stuff and talk and drink. The look on Luke’s face was fantastic.
Next, we learn that Luke (who at this point I actually felt sorry for) has a romantic gondola ride planned through the water where Heather puked last week. The conversation was as strained as a constipated rhino. It was all he could do to put his arm around her in the boat.
Now, the coups de grace. ( I don’t have an accent thing on my keyboard so I can’t spell it correctly, but “coups de grace” literally means “stroke of mercy”. It was the final death blow given to a mortal enemy to put him out of his misery. It’s the only phrase that fits what I’m about to describe).
After the most awkward moment in reality TV since Wes corrected himself for saying “my girlfriend” by pausing and saying “uhh, I mean my ex-girlfriend,” Danielle proceeds to tell Luke that she’s so surprised he’s her first second date and that was surprising because she’s never had a second date before, you know, because she’s fat and she’s a virgin and . . . screeeeeeeeeech. (insert death blow here).
Awkward silence. . .wait. . . wait. . .rolling eyes . . . wait. . . wait. . .deep breath . . . wait. . . wait. . .more awkward silence. . . “I love being on the water,” Luke responds.
His response to “I’m a fat virgin” is “I love being on the water.” And I thought Wes’ “Look, that bird has no foot” was a stroke of genius. If Wes’ that bird has no foot was a single-celled organism then Luke’s I love being on the water is a freaking opposable thumb. If Wes was the first caveman to write on a wall then Luke is Michelangelo. If Wes was a horse and buggy then Luke is a Cadillac. If Wes was . . . oh, you get the picture.
Luke then went on a date with Heather who is also fat but not too fat and very nice and very pretty then he kicked off four girls including Danielle. The End.
Stay tuned . . .