Let me confess: I am still single, and at times when I see happy couples walking on beaches on Match.com commercials, kissing to music from The Parent Trap soundtrack, I can feel slightly lonely.
As we are in the midst of “Juan-uary,” ABC’s The Bachelor has started its most recent installment of the hit reality show. While I most definitely (read: totally) won’t be tuning in to see if the poor, chiseled hunk finally finds his true love, I feel as if someday I should try out for my own season, because if I made it on, I’d flip that show upside down to make for an interesting narrative, if ABC even aired it.
Let me start with why I should be The Bachelor in the future. I will be in my latter 20s soon. I’m okay-looking in bathing suits (for those tropical island episodes). I mix mainstream traditionally macho activities like running and lifting every day with regular chess playing and trumpet practicing (I’m quirky!). Perhaps most importantly, my face is not incredibly attractive.
Hear me out on these, and especially on that last one: These traits are important because my season of The Bachelor will reach out to all the guys that have decent self-confidence but can’t find themselves in a relationship. It would be a testament to the men who are not TV-worthy Americans with serious good looks and high-paying salaries.
So why would I be cut out to be the next Bachelor? I’m cut out to be the next Bachelor because I’m not cut out to be the best Bachelor. I could never in my right mind seriously date multiple girls at once. I would not be able to live with myself if I proposed to a girl after several months of dating her while making out with other beautiful women. In this, enter “Bachelor, Season Bill” twist one: I will not kiss any of the women until I’ve narrowed it down to a very select few. I’m assuming ABC would probably start nudging me to make moves for ratings.
Imagine the tension in the house with a bunch of females vying for my hand in marriage. One could easily make up a lie that I kissed her and that could be the end of it. (If you’ve watched any season you know the trickle-down effects of such a lie). Not kissing anyone may even lead to girls wanting to leave the show, which would just make narrowing people down easier.
I’m not smooth. This would represent another large faction of Americans that would tune in. I forget names. It is part of who I am and sadly, learning upwards of 20 girls’ names is not happening. I guarantee that in one of the first rose ceremonies, I would call out a name only to realize I didn’t mean her and then send the same girl home. This mistake would be terrible and highly appeal to an audience that loves twists.
My awkwardness would also shine in every conversation the cameras captured. You can leave it to me to unknowingly give someone a backhanded compliment or accidently suggest that one of the girls was overweight. Picture every Michael Cera movie ever. Now imagine him not wearing a Nintendo shirt and putting serious thought in before his actions, only to yield the same results. Those results would be painful, and that is the type of cringing you would do while watching me.
The episode where the girl would visit my house would be bad. I can tell you this would be the exact scene of when someone comes to the door: The doorbell rings. I answer the door to some sappy stock score. The girl leans in for a kiss I will likely not give her. My tiny dog (a Lhasa Apso) has been barking like crazy the entire time. Still, the girl comes in and my dog, appropriately named Napoleon, will sniff and growl at her. I’ll make a terrible joke like “he’s a surprisingly good judge of character!” and the poor girl will feel jinxed for the rest of the show.
The best part about my master scheme is saved for the last episode. After every trial and tribulation that the final girl gets through, assuming any want to stay for the whole ride, I will not propose to her. I will instead ask her to continue being my girlfriend because why in the hell would anyone ask someone to be a life partner after several months of dating? The whole idea is mind-boggling. Who would want to marry me after I was seeing several other people at the same time?
This means, ladies, ABC would not pay for your engagement ring. You would likely get a moderate looking ring that my middle-wage income could afford.
“But Bill, ABC would buy you two beautiful bands! Why not just propose and have a long engagement?!?” Because, my friends, I was never on The Bachelor for money or nice rings in the first place — I was there to find love. And in that lies any exoneration that would wait for me after probably looking terrible to most of America episode after episode.
The girl ideally would understand and gladly agree to by my steady (and only) girlfriend and I would swear that I’d be hers and hers alone for as long as we’re together. And I would kiss her, too. Not only that, but we would have some awesome pictures from ridiculous dates that ABC allowed us to go on in foreign countries I’d otherwise only see as prizes on Wheel of Fortune.
The fallout: As good of a season it would be, the ethics of the show might be called into question the following season. What kind of person is the new bachelor/bachelorette that kisses all these people then proposes to one after no monogamy at all? What does this say about American values as so many people watch the show? People magazine would stalk all my dates with [insert girlfriend’s name here] and I’d likely get a chance to go on Dancing with the Stars and various other ABC projects afterward.
Really, America, I’d be doing it for you.