“What is this show about?” my four-year-old daughter asks. “Are they going to dance?”
“In a way,” I say. “A mating dance. It’s a game. See, these girls compete to marry the boy. In each episode they have to impress him so they can win a rose. If you don’t win a rose you’re eliminated.”
“Oh. Is that the boy?”
We watch as Jason takes off his shirt by the pool. Sexy music comes on and I sip my malbec and doubt my parenting skills. The women ogle him his abs. “He looks like a monkey,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says. “That’s why I want to watch the whole thing. Can I watch the whole thing?”
“No,” I say. “It will hurt your brain.”
“Then why will you watch the whole thing?”
“The damage is done.”
In the next scene Jason’s impressed because one of the girls asks him to dance and he thinks that’s just wild and crazy. They start to kiss. I look over at my daughter. “He’s a single dad. Can you imagine men vying for a single mother?” No answer. Then: “I’m going to get married one day.”
“But you won’t play games to marry, right?” I ask. “You’ll just marry someone you love.”
“Yeah I’ll marry Jaden casue he’s the bestest boy in my heart.”
“What makes him the best?”
“I love his shirts.”
“His shirts?”
“And the necklaces he wears.”
Hmm. Kind of ghetto-sounding.
“Why did you marry Daddy?” she asks.
“Well, he’s kind, funny, humble–”
“Well, Jaydon is kind, funny and humble, too. That girl just lied to that other girl.”
“It’s not good to lie,” I say.
“Mommy, I’m eating a mint.” She sticks out her tongue. “I tell the truth.”
A contestant tells Jason that she’s leaving the show because her grandmother is going to die. The other girls say things like, “Well, that’s sad and all, but this is a competition so it works for me!”
“These girls used to play with Barbies,” I say. I had to get that in there. A commercial comes on. There’s still an hour-and-a-half to go. “Oh, it’s over,” I lie, “and look, Daddy’s home. Yey!”
She gets up to greet him. “I got to watch a show where the girls try to marry the boy and the girls cry and that’s not good.”
Andy eyes me, sitting on the couch. “What?” I say. “We watched it in an ironic way.”
He hates the show and how I’m always threatening to go on it. He doesn’t know that up next is True Beauty and it surpasses the Bachelor in stupidity. I can’t wait.
Next week on the Bachelor: the contestants make moldings of their boobs. Until then…
**
See Also: BAD MOMMY, by Kaui Hart Hemmings
