Once upon a time (Monday),
in a land far, far away (Knoxville), a nameless girl (me, Beth) gathered with
friends to watch a fairy tale (The Bachelorette) play out magically (on TV)
before their very eyes. It wasn't long
before I (said nameless girl) realized the irony of what I was doing and what
many of my dear friends were doing at that same moment. I was watching reality TV and my friends were
in a foreign country seeing dozens of people come to know Jesus and be healed. I had really wanted to go on that trip, but
alas, I was (and am) still raising support for my job with a campus ministry
and just could not do it this summer. I
am rabbit trailing. Anyway, I was
sitting there literally feeling pieces of my self-respect DIE when I realized that
indeed The Bachelorette was not a fairy tale, but actually much like real life
for most of us. Let me explain.
At least once a year I,
like most people, have a makeup team, stylist, and Sugar Daddy show up with an
unlimited budget for me to get my hairs did, teeth redone (I am from Tennessee),
Botox injections, filler, a personal trainer, and two weeks shopping and doing
commercial shoots for my TV show. It is always so easy for me to get away from
my job as a counselor with a campus ministry.
I go to California and then travel around the world with 25 Jesus loving
men that have been hand-picked to try and win my heart. And for six weeks at a time I use the rare
phrases phrases “we have such chemistry” and “we have a deep connection” ALMOST
as much as I use phrases such as “skinny jeans suck” and “What’s Oprah doing
now?” Real life, people! This is no
fairytale. Stop judging The
Bachelorette. She’s no different than “us.”
Lest you feel that you can’t
fully relate with what I just described, let me try and broaden the net to
include you commoners. After I go
through the annual styling and “fixer upper” regime (my step-dad sometimes relates
a woman’s appearance to the condition of a car –“Well, she’s a little beat up,
but she’s sturdy – re: 1976 Chevy Impala), I am flown by helicopter to a yacht
in the sea where I put on my normal attire of a $25,000 sequin gown. Once they have finished with my airbrush
makeup, I am brought into the harbor and given my understated Tiffany blue
Bentley. My supporters don’t mind. They say they are so glad they can support me
in my dreams. IN. MY. DREAMS.
I show up to my mansion and
stand in my five inch stilettos, because I feel most myself in sequins and five
inch stilettos, and await the arrival of 25 men to meet me. So every day.
I’m always encouraged by the character of these men. Every year, they get better and better. Oh my
goodness, one time this guy got out of the limo and gave me a WWJD bracelet,
but that was nothing compared to the guy who painted me an imitation Thomas
Kinkade painting with my name hidden in the painting. One year a dude wrote me a poem and compared
me to Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz in which he said, “Like Toto, I stand at
the end of the yellow brick road and eagerly await your call.” (Actually, this was written to me my
sophomore year in high school by my botany lab partner). The icing on the cake was when one of the
guys read sections out of, “I Kissed Dating Goodbye” on his knees all while
spraying cologne in the air. I swoon.
At the end of the day, I
have to lay my head on the pillow with my own thoughts, just like Des, the
current Bachelorette. We really are
living in the same world. Her
pillowcases might be silk and mine might be $18 t-shirt sheets, but hey, it’s
all about perspective. Anyway, I just
did not think it was fair for the whole world to be making such judgment calls about
this show, because it IS REAL and I’m living proof of that statement.
Posts
