A Husband’s Assessment of the Contestants on The Bachelorette

husband's assessment of bachelorette contestants

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Because it’s been two weeks since the final rose, and obviously she chose the exactly wrong type of guy (the relationship is a carbon copy of the ill-fated Andy/Josh duo, and we all know how that ended, just like we all know the bachelor/bachelorette should always choose the sweet, soft-spoken, devoted girl/guy as opposed to the girl who doesn’t seem to give a shit about love but definitely gives a shit about hair extensions and fame and sparkly dresses purchased from some sort of mythical sparkly dress store created solely for Bachelor contestants, or the dashing, blindingly-white toothed, too-tight-pants-wearing, kinda-pro-sport-playing-but-i’m-confused-is-he-really-a-pro-athlete type of guy.)

Please enjoy the following poem, which was created as an ode to my husband, and his inspired Bachelorette commentary, which provides me almost as much pleasure as the ultimate love-finding adventure in which the phrases “open up,” “get vulnerable,” “she’s amazing,” and “right reasons” have become permanently destroyed by hallucinations of beachily-waved hair and the uniquely coy expressions triggered by Chris Harrison’s saucy little invitations to forgo individual rooms.

Only five more months (but who’s counting?) until January (and by January I mean The Bachelor).

“That guy works at GameStop.”

“You can tell it’s tough for Chad to let his guard down because he’s telling you about it.”

“Aggressively deep v-neck.”

“Stop making an analogy between skydiving and falling in love.”

“He’s a dachshund dressed in a suit – see how they propped him up to look like a person?”

“Wacked-out Adrien Brody.”

“Better wipe your tears and drink a protein shake, buddy.”

“Am I reading this right? Erectile dysfunction specialist?”

“Of course he’s creepy. He’s creepy because he’s a fucking vampire.”

“Rooster hair.”

“I bet it’s really hard for this dude to be vulnerable.”

“I call him Corduroy.”

“There’s someone amped up on rose ceremonies in the editing room going to fucking town with a keyboard Eyes Wide Shut style.”

“Stop with the Clint Eastwood act.”

“Easy does it little fella.”

“Lizard or frog. Some sort of amphibian.”

“Goodness, he’s awfully fond of scarves, isn’t he?”

“We get it. You’re in it for the right reasons.”

“He’s a fucking commercial banker from Fort Lauderdale? YES.”

 

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Sara Petersen

I am a bookworm, a lover of all things beautiful and curious and fun, and a total perfectionist when it comes to writing clear, relatable, REAL prose. I am obsessive about searching the depths of the Internet for the most perfect of all French butter crocks. I am ever-intrigued about how life, love, and relationship continue to shift and morph in my thirties

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