Hello, Readers. Welcome to this season’s final
installment. As always, I appreciate the
patience. It’s been almost 48 hours
since our forlorn farmer sent a much preferred but overly equivocal virgin
away from the frozen corn fields of Iowa back to sunny San Diego in favor of a
less desired fertility nurse anxious have her own heretofore barren field
fertilized. If Becca was the Dust Bowl
then Whitney was the Fertile Crescent.
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| Hi, I'm Becca. I don't love you. |
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| Hi, I'm Whitney. Impregnate me. |
Speaking of Fertile Crescents, I was
shocked to see that we didn’t get an update on Ashley and J.P.’s syncretic
bundle of joy on the After the Final Rose show.
I suppose this season had enough excitement to fill the generously
allotted 3 hours of prime time programming we were given to see how the
last 10 weeks shook out. I’m happy they
spared us the hazy view of Ashley’s uterus.
Before we get to the big recap, let me
say congratulations to Whitney and Chris (in that order). I say it every season. I believe that moment—whether its on a
hastily constructed platform on a lush tropical island or in a dirty barn in
Iowa—is a moment when the two people involved truly feel as if they’ve reached
their destination.
Granted, reality will soon present them
both with a swift kick to the groin, but for that moment, things must seem
perfect. Cynicism aside, we ought to
recognize that. Very few moments in life
hold within them that level of promise and optimism. Every season I wish the newly minted couple
well and every season I mean it. I hope
Whitney and Chris double the population of Arlington, Iowa.
Let’s get to it.
Let’s start by reviewing my December 2014
predictions for both ladies. I
wrote:
Becca, 26, Chiropractic Assistant. Great bio.
Attractive. No bling and an understated Coral shirt that hides the
shoulders and is tastefully unbuttoned. Real boobs, subtle makeup, and
she's not bleach blond. That's how you do a headshot, ladies. Based
on looks and bio alone, Top 4.
Not bad, Some Guy. Not bad.
Whitney, 29, Fertility Nurse. She can't go anywhere
without her razor, will try anything once, and likes to pursue men.
Sounds like a hell of a night in the Fantasy Suite to me. Then
again, having a razor wielding fertility nurse who's desperate to get
married chase after me is not very enticing.
I suppose that one proved
to be accurate as well. I had a reader
send me a nasty comment earlier in the season accusing me of secretly reading
Reality Stan and then doctoring my picks to make myself seem wise. Frankly, this season was one of my worst in
the way of predictions. I picked Jade
and Tracy the school teacher as finalists.
Frankly, I never saw Whitney coming until about 3 weeks ago. For the record, the only Bachelor blog I read
besides my own is www.ihategreenbeans.com.
Yes, it’s time for our
farmer to pick his favorite hoe. Keeping
our Tour De Midwest in tact we begin with our confused Bachelor roaming the
hoary (or is it whorey?) cornfields of Arlington, Iowa in search of
clarity. By “confused” I am, of course,
referring to the selection of the skinny jeans and peacoat combination rather
than his inability to decide between Whitney and Becca.
I’m pretty certain he
didn’t pick that outfit up at the local general store. He should have shucked off that entire getup
in favor of clothes he can throw a hay bale while wearing. Farming isn’t for everyone, but hay, it’s in
his jeans.
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| This is what real farmers wear. |
Another great pun:
It’s time to meet the whole
fam damily on their own turf. Whitney is
first up after a refreshing stay at the local Arlington Inn—Free TV, Clean
Beds, Vacancy. I can just see her blow dryer
dimming the entire Arlington power grid as she struggled to find enough counter
space amongst the chipped linoleum single vanity to accommodate her tackle box
filled with assorted creams, gels, and powders.
Not surprisingly, Whitney
continues to push the ball down the field into the red zone by closing,
closing, and closing again. She closed
in her one-on-one time, closed with mom, closed with dad, closed at the dinner
table, closed with Wilson Phillips in the living room, and probably closed with
the sheep in the barn when the cameras weren’t rolling. By the time she left the only things more closed
than that family were Becca’s legs. I’ll
give Whitney credit for the sales pitch.
Hell, I have to admit that I believed it.
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| Signed, The Soules Family |
Speaking of Becca. She arrives, the ying to Whitney’s yang,
after Chris has an opportunity to pow wow with the dudes in the sheet metal version
of the Lair of Seclusion about the ups and downs of both women. I knew that was set up. Breast size was never discussed. Trust me, breast size is always a factor. And before
you male-bash me, I just want to make a couple of points.
First, allow me to point
out the double standard. Every single
woman who senses an impending wedding proposal will at some point loudly
profess to whomever is within ear shot something like, “I really don’t care
what the ring looks like or how big the diamond is, I just want to know that he
loves me and wants to marry me.”
Bullshit.
95% of women care what the
ring looks like and how big the diamond is and the other 5% are lying about
it. Proof? The first thing a group of engagement hungry
women will do upon hearing the announcement that their friend is engaged will
be to feign excitement while simultaneously grabbing her left hand in order to
inspect the ring. What’s my point? Boobs are men’s diamond engagement
rings. They count. Deal with it.
Final point, all shapes and
sizes of boobs are in play. Unlike the
diamond, bigger is not necessarily better but every man wants some peace of
mind in that category. Hell, if I had a
pair of boobs I’d never leave the house.
Wouldn’t it be great if men were allowed to grab a buddy’s fiancé and
inspect her boobs upon hearing about the engagement like women inspect the
engagement ring?
Yes, it would. Back to the recap.
Becca makes the mistake(?)
of being honest with Chris’ family. What
Whitney was to closing the deal Becca was to avoiding any commitment whatsoever
to picking up her 72 degree, sunny skies, beach-within-10-minutes life and
moving to Iowa to get engaged to a man she’s dated collectively with 25 other
women for a month. Crazy, I know. She was like modus ponens personified. I was stricken by just how much the sheer
rationality and logical thinking stood out when juxtaposed next to
what we’ve grown to expect as the norm on this show.
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| Who said a Philosophy degree was worthless? |
After an excruciating talk
with Chris’ mom, Becca refuses to drink the Arlington Punch. Prior to the show I wasn’t sure how many ways
a person could communicate she wasn’t ready to get married to a stranger and
move across the country but Becca came close to hitting them all. Ironically, she was as strong in her resolve
as Whitney was in hers. Unfortunately
for Chris, she made it clear she was resolved not to jump into a bad
decision. He tried selling. She just wasn’t buying.
Chris resigns himself to
being nagged by Whitney’s high-pitched voice instead of Becca’s inability to
commit and has the ABC intern write Whitney’s name in calligraphy on the
envelope containing the generic invitation for the winner to ride heavy farm equipment with
him the morning before the rose ceremony.
Dear Honey,
I’ve decided I love you and
I’d like you to ride farm equipment with me in my flannel shirt and vest before
the rose ceremony.
Love, Chris
P.S. (dress like Jackie
Kennedy).
I was relieved to see Chris
retire the pseudo farmer attire carefully selected for him by a couple of Los
Angeles residents who had never been to Iowa in exchange for his regular jeans
and trusty vest. I think vests are all about
protection. You know, like a life vests
protect people from drowning and bulletproof vests protect people from getting
shot, and sweater vests protect people from getting laid.
We all knew what direction he was
leaning. It’s too bad he talked himself
into going the other direction.
Rose Ceremony
Becca looked incredible. I cannot recall another rose ceremony where
any other contestant looked as good.
Yes, that includes Emily Maynard.
I’m sure that made letting her go far more difficult than risking
frostbite in the barn. It was
also impossible not to wonder what would have happened had a staffer
accidentally knocked over one of those candles into the bone dry hay scattered
all over the place. If you discount the
time that Roberto almost sweated to death, this was clearly the most dangerous
rose ceremony in Bachelor history.
Whitney shows up looking alright (I’ve
told you she doesn’t do it for me) and Chris drops to one knee to pull out the
Neil Lane hardware and pop the big question after Whitney finally shut up. Note to women: Proposing to you is a nerve-racking ordeal,
no matter how sure a man is. If you even
remotely sense that it’s going to happen, please give your man a lot of leeway
and please be quiet. If a guy has gone
through the trouble to get the ring, he’s sure about asking you.
Shakespeare wrote “the
course of true love never did run smooth,” in a Midsummer Night’s Dream. I found that quote appropriate in light of
the fact that Shakespeare wrote that comedy about the wedding of two people
surrounded by a group of actors who are manipulated and controlled by a group
of mischievous fairies in the forest.
That reminds me of a certain show. Substitute midsummer for midwinter and 86 the forest for a cornfield and it makes a bit more sense.
Indeed the course of love
is not often smooth. Chris and Whitney
seem to have a lot on their newly unified plates before life slows down and a real
move to Iowa becomes a possibility. Dancing with the Stars, the press
caravan, and a whole host of red carpets to walk stand firmly between them
and the corn field.
Let’s hope that when
the red carpet gets rolled up and they make the 3 hour drive from the Des
Moines airport back to Arlington they’ve had some time to figure things
out. Let’s also hope that Whitney
doesn’t let the boredom of the farm talk her into dusting off this season’s DVD
and watching Chris suck face with all 25 women. Not watching was the best decision she's made in months.
Well, there it is. Another season in the bag. I hope y’all enjoyed it as much as I
did. This was a good one and it was fun
to write about. I’m not naïve (or
conceited) enough to think that all of you will stick around in the off season,
but for those of you who do, check in regularly. I’m committed to posting. For those of you who will forget about me
until our double Bachelorette experiment (that’s a horrible idea) next season,
please take care of yourselves and I hope you’ll check in again when the show
starts.
Spring is approaching and, as
always, it signals a time of renewal.
Lord knows we can all use a dose of that once a year. I’ll be here when you’re ready to log
on. In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll
be reading Harrison’s novel. DP
