'Tis the season to be slutty. No, I am not referring to the spring season and the likelihood that girls will once again break out their jean miniskirts and low-cut tank tops. What I'm referring to is actually much scarier: the 12th season of The Bachelor. Every year, I see the promos for ABC's shameful reality franchise and cringe, thinking of Susan B. Anthony rolling in her grave with every rose. And every year, I have successfully vowed not to watch the show. It hasn't been too much of a challenge, as none of the Bachelors of yesteryear have actually been worth fawning over. Andrew was jerky, Bob weird, and Andy unemotional - lest we forget they weren't good looking either. They made it too easy to ignore each fresh batch of 25 backstabbing women that could be found in any college in America.
This year's season, The Bachelor: London Calling unfortunately made it impossible to ignore the insanity the moment they showed Matt Grant. He is everything you would want in a Bachelor. Good hair? He's got it. Blue eyes? Yup, those too. Height? Oh, only 6 feet and 5 inches of it. But before I digress into further objectification, his greatest asset should be pointed out: He's British. I think nothing more needs to be said, so let's move on to his female counterparts.
The crop of bachelorettes was especially feisty this year. Insanity and hilarity ensued when the women finally figured out that Matt was British, immediately spawning confessions of love. Who knew a 30-second conversation could be the basis for a life of incandescent happiness? This kind of devotion is dangerous with no competitors hunting your man - but when 25 women's hormones are raging at the same cocktail party, I suggest you watch out. There was Carri, who bit through an aluminum soda can with her teeth to gain some attention. And who could forget Stacey, the Drunky McDrunkerson who gave Matt her underpants? Needless to say, neither is around anymore.
After two episodes of this monstrosity, I'm afraid I just can't do it. Sure, Matt provides fabulous eye candy and decent manhood. But sitting there, watching my fellow females cry when Matt rejects them after one night, or lock themselves in the bathroom because they didn't get enough alone time, just hurts my heart too much. Perhaps I will watch the finale to see if Matt finds his American dream, but until then, I'll search for my own, realizing that no matter how good looking a man is, he's not worth the degradation of my own gender.
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