I Loathe Myself!


“Yes, it’s love! Well, not really.”

The instrument has not been invented that can measure how much shame I feel. 

I am truly not worthy.  I am a moron.  I am a complete idiot.  I feel awful.   

And I’m not being hard enough on myself, either.  That’s how bad this is. 

You see, what I have done is unforgivable, certainly within the pantheon of television program royalty. 

What was my onerous transgression? 

I watched the final episode of The Bachelor with my wife by my side on Monday night.   

Oh, how far the mighty have fallen!

I have lost the moral high ground which Downtown Freaking Abbey has always afforded me.  Gone are the regular Sunday night meetings in my living room with The Finer Things Club, featuring watercress sandwiches and demitasse tea cups. 

Lady Mary’s alluring rebuff to her now-deceased and beloved Matthew, “Careful.  You’ll make me untidy,” has been replaced by Catherine’s response to Sean, “I don’t see why there would be any waiting period. I want to be his wife.”


And in the spirit of full disclosure here, I became sleepy during the finale and actually turned in for the night before Sean made his selection.  There might have been a small measure of redemption for me had I just left it at that.  But since my Spouse DVRs any television program with either “bachelor” or “real housewives” in the title, I knew the balance of the unseen episode was lurking somewhere on that server.

Yep.  The next day I watched the last 30 minutes I missed. 

“Absolutely pathetic,” you say? 

I agree.

To make matters worse, I found a certain element of “creepy” permeated much of the program.  To my observation, Sean’s father seemed more than a little suspect in terms of his interaction with the two female finalists.  He was, in fact, a bit too welcoming and weird with them. 

He may have said, “You would be a wonderful addition to our family, if Sean chooses  you.”

What I heard was, “If my son stiffs you, I am probably available.  I know I’m already married to Sean’s mother, but don’t worry about that.”

I don’t know.  Maybe these folks would fit into Downtown Freaking Abbey after all, but some of the main characters would have to die, so I am not sure if that’s really an option.

Do people actually think any of this is real?  Is the drama sincere?  I mean, come on, Repo Wars seems more authentic.

You might wonder, why did I lower myself so?  Quite frankly, there was no much else on, and I was somewhat fatigued.  Perhaps my brains was a bit frazzled.  Maybe I wanted to bond with my wife and try to understand her fascination with this type of crap thing. 

I suppose there really isn’t a very good explanation.  Sometimes sh stuff happens. 

I guess the main point here is that everyone stumbles once in a while.  And I do believe there is a Road to Redemption.  I do not know, however, how many episodes of Masterpiece Theater cancel out one The Bachelor.  I’m still calculating, but I’m thinking the answer is “many.”

In the meantime, I have begun the Twelve-Step Recovery Process.  I have already completed Step One, which is admitting I have a problem.  I’m currently fighting through some of the other stages, but I have found that kitten photos and blurred pictures of the Amish somewhat diminish the bad taste of The Bachelor

But not entirely. 

I have to come to terms with what I’ve done and am determined to move on from here.  I must re-center with Zen-me and focus on the Way Ahead. 

And figure out the remote control programming features to filter/block future episodes of The Bachelor

After all, that is the safest route, but it will also necessitate incurring the wrath of the adult females in the house. 

That’s a small price to pay for true love, I figure.

- Dad

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