My 'Bachelorette' confession

I have a confession. This is not easy for me to put into words, but I feel the need to purge my soul. After living with my mother for a few months (after an all-too-brief transplant to San Antonio, which I will elaborate on another day), I seem to have picked up one of her bad habits.

At one time or another, I suppose most women fear becoming their mother. For the most part, I had harbored no such fear, as my mom is a pretty swell gal. Or so I thought. Upon learning of this particular habit, however, I was offended, disturbed and a little concerned for my mother and her well-being. Lord knows I tried to withhold judgment, but as time went on, I found myself growing more and more sickened by her seeming lack of control over the matter. What’s worse — I found out my sister was joining her in this pastime. I was forced to listen to them talk about it flippantly, casually — right in front of me … and dear God, in front of my children!

Then one night it happened. They broke me. They talked me into giving it a try. So I did. I tried it once … and I was hooked. My mother — and my sister — reveled in my sweet addiction. They laughed at me for holding out for so long. I soon lost control, and I watched as my children — my darling babies — were dragged into this spiraling dark hole right along with me. For that I will never forgive myself ... .

My name is Crystal, and I watch “The Bachelor” … and heaven help me, I’m currently watching “The Bachelorette” (come on, it’s got a hometown boy on it this season — how could I resist?) Please don’t judge me. Don’t look at me with such disdain. I am an educated woman. I am not naïve in matters of the heart. I know in my mind that the concept of finding a life-partner, the ever elusive “soul mate,” someone to create a family with, all while handing out roses on a seaside mountain top is ridiculous to say the least. Yet I watch. I watch and I enjoy. I judge the decisions, the conversations, the outfits. I cheer when my favorite gets a rose. I feel better about myself, then I feel worse. I ride a ridiculous rollercoaster of emotion while living vicariously through these noncharacters, and I eat it up like rocky road. I need help.

I find a little consolation in the fact that my family and I are not alone in our addiction. If the continued popularity of the show is any indication, a great number of us seem to enjoy this voyeuristic peak into the mating habits of humans, however unrealistic the portrayal. I, of course, prefer to think that I have a far more respectable reason for watching such a program. I’m trying to sell the idea that maybe I’m watching it from an anthropological standpoint, and am carefully studying human’s concepts of love and attraction.

Truth be told, “The Bachelor” IS kind of an interesting human experiment. It brings to mind one of the most written about and pondered upon questions of all time: What is love? Is it possible to create love? If given unlimited access to gorgeous destinations, fancy cars, fine wine and a hair/makeup team, can one person truly “find love” with one out of 24 “contestants”?

Are humans that fickle? Is fate that easily directed? I’ll be the first one to admit that shirtless Sean Lowe + a beach in Fiji + no work or responsibilities for eight weeks might just make me think I was falling in love too … but aren’t these just artificial feelings of euphoria created by a production crew and a network budget? Above all that, even if the bachelor or bachelorette begin to have genuine feeling for one of the contestants, they are not allowed to tell them so, thereby adding to the façade of the entire program. In one way, the couples’ situations are ideal (lots of free time together, one-on-one dates in fancy locations, 100 percent focus on dating). In another, however, they are completely frustrating and potentially detrimental to the entire premise of the show, due to lack of privacy, lack of authentic dialogue and communication and, seemingly, lack of trust. Why, then, can I not stop watching?

Maybe it’s because, regardless of the real-life implications of the show, there is an element of fantasy and romance that appeals to the “pretty princess” side of me. I mean, what are the chances that the one night Cinderella gets out of the house, she happens to meet the man of her dreams? Like most fairytales, “The Bachelor” is a nice story, but unfortunately, a far cry from reality. That’s not to say that a real relationship couldn’t evolve out of show. People have met in stranger ways, and I suppose the men and women who try out for the program figure they have nothing to lose. I don’t knock them, maybe, like me and my family of addicts, they are strong, intelligent, realistic people who just happen to be sappy romantics at heart.

(Crystal Faldalen is a freelance writer. She is a former reporter and current classified manager for the Havre Daily News.)