By Djb
Oh, my god! They found Hitler's Mercedes! We fade up on an ole-timey-looking car of ambiguously Nazi-esque repute (by my calculations, anyway) to find Bob "Your Kiss Is On My List. And Yours. And Yours. And Yours And Yours Oh And Also Yours Too And You Three Over There" Guiney standing beside it, thinking of making out with the driver and then giggling shrilly about it later. "Today," Bob identifies our setting so that we may synchronize our nuclear clocks, "I'm picking up Lee-Ann in a vintage limo and we're heading down to the Queen Mary for a romantic evening on the water." Clearly, a universe of fun awaits us. A universe in which "Lee-Ann on the water" means "Lee-Ann underwater, as shark bait or one who is drowned and blue of lips might be," a universe in which "romantic evenings" means "baseball playoffs, but with a different ending than the one we ended up with," and a universe in which "Queen Mary" is the name of a transvestite burlesque entertainer who wears pink heels and performs from an oeuvre exclusive made up of songs from the Pat Benatar collection. Then and only then will I redirect the Planet Express for a direct flight into the proposed and aforementioned Universe Of Fun. Do you see now, creators and esteemed upper management, ABC Networks, what we mean when we say we want things on the show to be "different"? Do you see why maybe four white roses isn't quite the most! Shocking! Or! Radical! Thing that could have happened?
Bob, stop trying to kiss the Queen Mary. S/he isn't even a contestant.
Anyway. Recap. Right.
Bob continues in a confessionalizing voice-over that "There's lot I need to figure out about Lee-Ann...the ladies voting her least compatible does make me think that there might be something I don't know." Gosh, ever since he and Queen Mary learned all there is to know about the crying game back in that Bachelor Fan Fic paragraph up above, Bob's gone really gun shy, suddenly. Bob continues, "I'd like to figure out what that might be." He looks out the window of Hitler's Mercedes with an expressive, pensive, far-off, musing look of there's-a-lot- I-need-to-figure-out- about-Lee-Ann- the-ladies-voting-her- least-compatible-does-make- me-think-that- there-might-be- something-I-don't-know- to-figure-out- what-that-might-be.
Meanwhile, back at The House That One Man Can Put Asunder, Lee-Ann fills out the other perspective of this "He Says/Lee says" dichotomy, telling us...effectively, exactly the same thing. And that thing is this: "I was voted least compatible in this house by the girls, and that ensured me a one-on-one date with Bob." Except when she tells it to us, it's during her grooming ritual, where we find her alone in the bathroom with a hair dryer in one hand and the biggest, roundest, rarest brush in Big Round Brush State Park in the other. Seriously, every brush you ever thought you lost actually ran away from you in search of that brush when called upon to heed the cry from the Mother Ship. The way some girls used their brushes as ad hoc microphones to dance around their bathroom and sing "Build Me Up Buttercup" or "Summer Lovin'" or the songs of Pat Benatar, Lee-Ann tethered that thing to a beam high above family room and let it dangle at eye length, using it as an ad hoc microphone to announce heavyweight boxers's weights into. As soon as she was old enough to lift it.
Lee-Ann continues, "I just want to say 'thank you, girls,' because whatever you were trying to do, I ended up here. I am compatible with Bob and I'm about to prove them wrong." The producers then cut away before Lee-Ann has a chance to deliver her parting shot, a forty-five minute maniacal laugh of the "MWAH HA HA HA HA" variety while rubbing her hands together in an evil, French villain kind of way, followed by her tying the other nine girls to train tracks in accelerated black and white, and finally demanding a payment of rent from someone, despite that person's repeated entreaty that they cannot pay the rent. I mean, why even bother with the big-ass honkin' brush if all she's going to do is cover her hair with a tall, black, stove-pipe hat? She's the bad guy. And evil. And we get it.
Several of the girls sit downstairs, masterfully method-acting the stage direction "not helping Lee-Ann get ready." Two girls (Antoinette and Meredith?) sit on either side of the Million-Dollar Date Box (itself looking all chill with the ladies and angling for a spinoff of its own, or at least a recurring guest spot on The Ellen DeGeneres Show), while two other girls (Estella and, um, someone else?) take up exactly one-billionth of The Ottoman That Ate Cleveland, not even knowing that there's another person on it with them, and in fact each thinking she might be lost at sea, so much does the size of that thing mess with your perception about the size of anything else besides itself. But upstairs, a surprise ally has come to Lee-Ann's rescue, as we find The Silent Movie Non-Storyline Formerly Known As Karin helping the devil into her blue dress. Karin removes grandma rollers from Lee-Ann's hair and jokes, "Oops, I spilled red wine on it!" And it's a good thing that Karin wasn't within a Firestone Vineyard's length of an actual glass of wine there, because I could totally see Lee-Ann missing the joke and freaking out, counterpunching with a conveniently-located vat of acid, which goes right into Karin's eyes amidst a ranting bellow of, "You keep your hands off my man. You're against me! You're ALL AGAINST ME!!!" You leave her alone, Lee-Ann. I'll pay the rent.
Because "reality dating television shows" and "examining the manmade construct of time" are practically inextricable from one another, it's no surprise that Karin's central plot at this point is "telling us that this is when she told Lee-Ann that she was running out of time to prepare for her date." Way to lay it on the line emotionally, is all I'm saying. Karin tells us that she and Lee-Ann "have bonded," and that she felt like she had to help out in Lee-Ann's time of need. Downstairs, meanwhile, they feel exactly the same way, except the opposite. Jenny is afloat on the ottoman (also replete with a hyena, a gorilla, a Bengal tiger, and The Booker Prize...and she doesn't even know any of them are there), telling the girls on the couch, "I thought it was a joke that her jewelry was worth a million [dollars]." Yeah. That's a pretty good joke. Meanwhile, the Million-Dollar Date Box is too bling bling even to have to say a word. Why is just sitting in the middle of the couch like that? It looks insane.
Misty -- suddenly an agent of change and action and LOOK AT ME BEFORE I AM GONE -- hangs over the balcony and yells down into the living room, "We should help Lee-Ann. She has an hour." Unless that sentence has the words "to live" somewhere at the end of it, you're not getting no help from no one, no how. Trust me on this. In a confessional, Meredith fills in, "We all sat there and didn't move. I mean, she was being such a brat about the whole thing. Why would I want to help her?" ["Well, and how much goddamn 'help' does she need? How long does it take her to get dressed on a normal day, by herself, without a phalanx of attendants and ladies-in-waiting?" -- Wing Chun] Cut to Lee-Ann explaining that the other girls are "jealous," and we get a sneak peak of her outfit via a confessional that takes place on the Queen Mary later that evening. Decked out in a blue evening gown, a Cruella De Vil shawl, and the necklace that sunk the Titanic when the old lady (Nana?) dropped it on the deck or something (the facts are hazy, because the movie came out a very long time ago), she rants on for our continued, slow-head-shaking pleasure, "Does it look like I care? Did you see me crying when we ranked each other? Hell, no. I am not here to be the bridesmaid at their wedding. I am here to be with Bob." And to get those puppies. And to tell Jack Dawson just once more how much you love him. And to hear Queen Mary sing her rendition of "Hell is for Children," which will change your goddamn life.
Hitler's Mercedes pulls up in front of the house, and a knock on the door reveals Bob, decked out for a date with his least compatible bachelorette, and then to a quickie meet-and-greet at Nana's still-pending funeral (a week later, and still no one's found ten minutes to give this woman her final rest). He knocks on the front door, and Lee-Ann pulls it open, already compensating for the this-must-mean- he-hates-me insecurity that must be associated with the circumstances surrounding this date, and blurts out a non-introductory "I'm so excited" by way of introduction. A peck of greeting ensues, the other girls sitting in various forms of repose, ignoring, ignoring, ignoring. And I know they hate her and think this is a bad idea and all, but doesn't it seem like, just for a second, they might be cooling on Bob just a little? I don't know. Maybe it's me. But I feel like they're getting with the program here. Misty -- so concerned so recently with Lee-Ann's inability to get ready in an expedient fashion -- explains in confessional, "The reality of it is that nobody wants to see her get to know Bob any better, and so we're all kind of, y'know, upset about it and a little bit jealous." Lee-Ann walks out the door ahead of Bob, offering a quiet but audible "Don't wait up." Bob follows behind her, Medusa-esque locks blazing. I hope she brought her big round brush with her. One swipe through his hair would reduce that thing to kindling.
Hitler's Mercedes coasts along the Autobahn, ending its journey in what the subtitle tells us is Long Beach. Now, I've been in Long Beach many times, and the one defining characteristic I often remember of said BEACH is the undeniable presence of water. But here, any signs of the coast are so taken up with the presence of a big-ass boat that the water displacement must have driven the shore a million miles inland, and when that boat comes back it's going to be docking in a place the subtitle tells us is "Coastal Topeka." Anyway, it's really big. And it has the words "Queen Mary" written across the side. And you could fit fifty of Hilter's Mercedes on it. Or approximately four of those giant brushes.
In a confessional, Lee-Ann tells us, "I've got the dress, I have a million dollars worth of jewelry on me, I have the prince, and I am feeling like Cinderella at the ball." Our first fully realized fairy-tale analogy of the season, right? Leave it to the second-grade teacher. A cut later we're on the boat, Bob expressing awe at something called "the view" (of downtown Long Beach, home of a small airport and probably a Gene Autry museum, but not that much in the way of a skyline). He anticipates that this date will be "tough to beat," and Lee-Ann jokes that that's because he's with her. Yeah, anyway. He meant the boat.
Dinner. During a sundown (but what will come of the view?!) on The Boat That Ate The Ottoman That Ate The Brush, Bob hazards, "I'm kind of surprised, actually, that your friends voted you my least compatible." Why must he be so deliberately obtuse as to refer to the rest of the women as her "friends"? He's done this a number of times now, and we know he knows that they're not Lee-Ann's friends at all. He can toe the line on this "when the guys were in the house, we were all best friends because we're guys and that's what guys do" PR shtick all he wants, but no matter how much he pretends now that men are from Mars and women are from Ottoman, the guys' house during The Bachelorette had a bit of tension too. So stop calling them Lee-Ann's friends. And shut up. Anyway, Lee-Ann responds to his surprise with a faltering "You and me both," and he cops to being "freaked out a bit." In short order, we're taken through the Newlywed Game confessional from last week, the ladies holding up their cards and proclaiming Lee-Ann to be Bob's least compatible: Kelly Jo, Meredith, Brooke, Mary, and a sobbing -- SOBBING -- Antoinette. Lee-Ann tells us she thinks that people in the house think she's "very compatible" with Bob, and, to Bob: "They were trying to be mean 'cause you didn't want me to get one of the top two votes." For some reason Bob is hell-bent on keeping domestic relations strong in a house his very personage is responsible for tearing apart, and he insists, "I think that everyone is still your friend." Lee-Ann is deadpan in her reply: "No. They're really not." Heh. "But, even, regardless..." he hems. She says nothing. "I'm attracted to you, so it doesn't bother me," adds Bob. Why not just lay it all out and say you're just trying to get some free love on the Freelove Freeway and kiss her already? You're going to anyway, even if the date goes badly, or she tells you she doesn't like you, or she spits in your face, or she sprouts a tail, or she eats a hundred babies. Bob? You are not discerning. "The fact that I get to hang out with you alone is the most important part," Bob concludes. Yeah, well, that's not true, either.
Nine total seasons of Little House cram themselves into one twee little date box, which Misty carries into the house in all of its rough-hewn, gingham-y, tableclothed beauty. While scientists and mathgicians of well-known repute sit in cramped inventing rooms wondering aloud, "If only 'process of elimination' had been invented by the time this episode aired, we could have just said 'this date is for the rest of y'all,' rather than naming each of the girls on the final group date one by one, and this episode would have been six minutes long," the final Date Box reveals, "Estella, Karin, Jenny, Antoinette, and Brooke, let's make a big splash!" The open the basket to reveal...bathing suits! Girls in bikinis! Finally!
Take it, Karin: "It's swimsuits, something we do 24/7 while we're at the house. But on top of that, we get five girls. The message I feel we're being sent is, 'You're going home after the Rose Ceremony.'" Well, the message may not be quite so terminal as all that, but I'll agree that the message ain't "The contents of this box are worth a million dollars," that's for sure. Jenny -- slurring through her usual speech about "fairness" -- somehow makes all of this into one word when said out loud: "To me, it's not fair. I don't think Bob is seeing the Lee-Ann we're all seeing." Well, Jenny, dear, that's because you're seeing a Lee-Ann obscured by your periphery-blocking visor, aren't you?
Bob's got his blinders -- and his visor -- off. He can see the real Lee-Ann, and she's...talking to Bob about Bob. At his suggestion: "I hate to put you on the spot, but...what is it you like about me?" Lee-Ann cites his personality, his dimples, and his curls as reasons he's so super-duper. Bob -- throwing out some line and fishing for compliments over the side of the boat -- continues, "So if I'm bald and I have no dimples left, we're still a-ight, then?" She deadpans a not-entirely-unendearing, "No, I'm leaving you." He cackles in a way that causes despair in unborn babies. Lee-Ann can barely stop herself from adding, "And speaking of that laugh, now it's time for the 'con' list, right?"
Strummy acoustic guitar means love! Bob takes Lee-Ann to the back of the boat (just as the bicycle shop owner did to Arnold and DUDLEY, and I appreciate the efforts of those of you who took the time to correct that) as a big-ass fireworks display starts. For a second, Lee-Ann looks at them like she has no idea what's going on, but she rallies with a strained "Are you kidding me?" In a confessional that looks like it took place before the gunpowder even faded from the sky, Lee-Ann tells us that she "can't put into words how I felt about having my own personal fireworks show with Bob's arms around me. 'Orgasmic' is how to describe the moment." And since her powers of vocabulary are so limited, she seems inadvertently to illustrate her feelings through the powerful medium of hand shadow puppetry. Her left hand lifts into the frame and just starts bobbing up and down, seemingly independent of the rest of her body. From the looks of it, she thinks this night with Bob was "dog dog dog, dragon, baby head, biting dog." Is there any better way to describe that singular feeling of falling in love?
There are no dragons or babies' heads back at the Bordello Of Babes. Instead, there is...Nana. And hot girl/girl action! Under the cover of darkness, Meredith and Kelly Jo hug and cry on a bed, while Meredith rehashes Nana's untimely demise last week. Though the girls have been supporting her, we learn, interestingly, "A lot of times today, I wish I was with Bob." But you barely even...oh, never mind. I'm sure you really meant "in Portland with my parents," anyway. And what's with the continuing subtitle reminding us of Meredith's name in Episode Four? We know who she is. We know where she's from. We know the duration of her late grandmother's funeral, so we certainly know her name. Sometimes we even don't mistake her for Estella at first sight. Sometimes.
Back with Kelly Jo, Meredith describes the stages of grief in a misordered list of synonyms: shocked, angry, sad, pissed off. Kelly Jo tells her that this response is "normal," which it totally is. She then tells us, "Meredith is my closest friend [IN THE HOUSE, I ASSUME] right now." Meredith tells Kelly Jo, "I want to punch someone right now. I [expletive that is "fuck," I think]-ing want to." Tears. Tears. Tears. Even an interpretation of this grief by the talented artists at Hand Puppet Emotional Theater cannot describe her pain.
Nana?
An actual live string quartet -- yes, that's right: an actual live string quartet -- plays the largo movement of "Concerto In Zzzzzz," as Bob and Lee-Ann dance on the boat. As they segue into a far more spirited rondo "A Julliard Education And For This?" Bob -- wait for it -- kisses Lee-Ann smackily. Oh, it's "Pachelbel's Canon," isn't it? By, um, Pachelbel. And while this is a commonly known song, I actually know it immediately because when my brother was in college, he was in this a cappella singing group in which some clown wrote lyrics to it and rechristened it "The Taco Bell Canon." Shut up. It was one of their most popular numbers, featuring lyrics including "I like tacos" and "yum." So, see that? At least it means I'm an a cappella dork instead of being a classical music dork, right? That's much, much better. Lee-Ann wants to "click [her] heels three times and end up back in Detroit with Bob." Sorry, sister, but conventional wisdom has it that when that metaphor goes down, you're the one pinned underneath the house.
Group date time. Yep. A tricked-out Winnebago and their Bachelor in sweatpants isn't going to make them feel like second-class citizens at all. Or like sixth-, seventh-, eighth-, ninth-, and tenth-class citizens, if you want to be honest about it. Bob tells us that we're going to a water park. And so we do, to Hurricane Harbor, which is actually a Six Flags in the Valley where entry is about twenty bucks a person, approximately the same amount of money it costs for a string quartet and a fireworks show on a private boat. Well, things are cheaper in Long Beach, so who knows. Anyway, the five "ladies" frolic in bikinis in wave pools and down water slides. Karin? Not having any fun. She passes on a waterslide, then goes on a waterslide. Why was it heroic and exciting when Meredith did sixty things she didn't want to do, but demeaning and problematic when we cut to Karin going down the waterslide? She didn't want to do it, so why make her do it? She tells us in a confessional that when she's wearing a bathing suit, she's usually doing it just to look good. And she's wearing this Madonna-from-three-years-ago cowboy hat I think I've seen every single person in that house wearing, including Chris Harrison and at least a few of the limo drivers. Jenny doesn't think Karin is going to get a rose because she's too "high-maintenance," which I guess means "she can't just grab a visor and go." Back at Bob's Villa (where even the clouds are happy little clouds), more swimming! More hot tubs! More wine! Bob takes Jenny aside for some getting-to-know- to-boot-you chat, where she tells him that she overanalyzes everything, and then overanalyzes in confessional, "I'm not opening up to him like I usually do with a guy. So every time we talk, I'm not able to bring Jenny out like a wish I could." Is it because you're wearing Karin's cowboy hat? Or because you're kind of an idiot?
Antoinette. Remember when she was, like, doped up or dying or something, and now no one even remembers that? They're kind of, like, straddling each other in the pool, Antoinette asking, "Do you like dating multiple women?" Bob asks, "What are you, high?" and then laughs like he's both high and a goat. He tells her that it "does suck, because it's ten girls I like. And now I gotta pick six I like better." Antoinette explains that her breasts aren't real. Actually, what I meant to say is that Antoinette will never win. Sorry, what I really meant to say is that Antoinette tells Bob that she has "a one-track mind" when it comes to dating, and that when she likes someone, she usually doesn't even think about dating someone else. I love that this show has torn us so loose from our moorings morality-wise that we actually need a refresher course on the very living fundamental concept of "monogamy." Admit it. It's kind of awesome. Antoinette thinks she and Bob "clicked in the pool." Which sounds like something that should necessitate the immediate draining of the pool.
Estella's clock is ticking, and as soon as Bob figures out that she isn't Meredith he's going out on a date with twice, Estella's in serious trouble. But I still really dig her. Bob deigns to ask her where she thinks she fits in with him insofar as compatibility, and she says she thinks she's pretty high up there. But she turns it around and asks if he thinks she's in his "top ten," and he responds sincerely months before he even gets the joke, 'cause, see, there are only ten of them left. Do they kiss, too? I didn't even know that.
Pool. Entire ensemble. "You know what," Jenny says. "I think Bob just likes to kiss everyone." Bob asks them if that makes them feel "weird," and never-been-kissed Jenny lies, "No, not at all." Yes yes YES it DOES. Antoinette tells us in confessional that "half of the house has kissed Bob so far, so that kind of bothers me. If he feels a connection with me, what makes my kisses special?" Good question. Undesirable answer. Bob deflects what seems like encroaching criticism, explaining, "I'm very kissy. Like, I'm affectionate." You're "kissy"? He adds that if he wasn't upfront about the women he'd kissed, "it would be like every other show, where they act like they didn't kiss anybody, but they actually kissed a ton of people." So, you're a whore, then? Estella, sitting to Bob, chills things out: "Seriously, I kissed everybody here, too." And in that moment, I want to kiss Estella. Finger puppet kiss, of course. But kiss, nonetheless.
"Going into tonight, there are five women that I'm certain I want to extend roses to...I have a sixth rose, and that's definitely the one that is causing me the most trepidation." In that spirit, he is going to try to spend some time with each other women individually, if only to make it look less suspect when there are four pre-eliminated- for-your-convenience girls he should just make faces at behind their backs.
First up is Krazy-Eyes, whom we haven't seen any of tonight, and she certainly hasn't seen any of us, what with her Krazy-Eyes spinning loosely in their sockets like the googly sticker she is. Sitting outside, she asks Bob if he plans on staying in Detroit and at his job. He explains that his family and his business are there, and that he's always said he'll "never quit [his] day job." Why not? If it's a sense of nobility you're looking to foster for yourself in life, I'd say you're two reality dating shows behind the curve as it is. Brooke, meanwhile, has always lived in Memphis, but even if she leaves, she'll know that she always has a home there. Bob tells us that he likes the "sense of confidence" Brooke exudes, and that they have so much in common and, c'mon, seriously, she's so not going to win.
Misty. She asks how he is, and Bob deems himself as "delightful," adding, "I feel like I have this huge decision to make." Look at Bob! Bob Bob Bob! Bob is famous on the Bob show! Bobbity Bob Bob Bob! Let's not ever talk about anything else but Bob! In that spirit of Bobalicious Bobosity, Bob asks her, "Are there any things that you're in particular wondering about me?" And seriously, in his mind, the only acceptable question he could think she would ask would be, "What god fashioned you in his image and how did you get to be so wonderful?" ["Or perhaps, 'Your campaign seems to have the momentum of a runaway freight train. What are you so popular?'" -- Wing Chun] Misty turns the tables because that's what the women do on this show, asking Bob, "Do you feel like we're compatible?" She tells us that she feels like she gets "tough" and "nervous" around Bob, and it's a feat of mischaracterization either on her part or on the show's that we've seen absolutely no facets of either. Bob tells Misty that he doesn't date ten women at a time, and then trumps his own joke by adding, "Usually twelve." She's a deer in his headlights.
For all the carb consciousness that must go on with girls who look like this, they sure can't stop from excessive toasting. Wait. Did I really just write that? Aaaaaanyway, Kelly Jo raises a glass to the Top 10, and everybody clinks. Jenny ups the toasting ante, though, adding, "Here's to 'stay in touch whenever we're available to.'" Lee-Ann rolls her eyes and declines to toast. Let's go outside and hear her tell us why! "In a normal situation, if I want a guy, I don't have to see the other nine girls that are going for him. The whole point of this is to be true to yourself. If I want to be with Bob, I'm not gonna fake this just so I can look like I get along with everyone."
Kelly Jo. Admit it. You missed her just a little, didn't you? They reunite with a kiss. Kelly Jo launches in: "I hope you know I have a serious side." At which point she delivers, verbatim, the identical speech that might sound familiar to Bob seeing as he delivered it to Trista during the very episode that saw him booted. An interesting strategy, to be sure. She adds, "I just want you to know that my heart is out there and it's wide open. And if you want to embrace it, that's going to make me the happiest woman in the room." Shoo-in for the final four. "And I still want to smooch you." Or maybe the final two.
Meredith. Nana haunts the proceedings once more as we rehash the reasons that Bob and Meredith had such an atypical first date. Meredith thanks him for being so great through this tough time, and he retorts, "It's kind of early in a dating relationship to have to deal with grief like that." Well, excuse Nana for dying then, won't you? Meredith tells us that she's "really, really feeling something" for him, hoping that they can be together "in the end," and also for the ten- to fifteen- to ten-minute service that is certain to following immediately afterward.
"Lee-Ann was definitely upset," Karin tells us. Karin takes Lee-Ann to a remote corner of the room -- in front of a roaring fire Karin must have designs just to shove Lee-Ann headlong into -- and tells Lee-Ann, in the nicest way possible, "I look at you, and you're such a beautiful girl...." Oh, don't worry, Karin. Lee-Ann will take it from here: "...that could have any man that I wanted." She tells Karin that she's not having any fun, doesn't dig sharing a man with nine other women, and doesn't want to "behave tonight and then be miserable for a week." Karin tries to hop in, but Lee-Ann wants her to know, "I'm too good for this [bleeped expletive that is 'shit'], and if you don't realize that then open your eyes." And, okay. Having watched the show that introduced a slobbering nation to its poster boy for fat-and-then-skinny, one would presuppose that Lee-Ann would enter into the game with a basic idea of what the rules were. On the other hand, anyone who decides that they're too good for this shit? Might actually be. Take her rambling logic (which, effectively, equals "This whole social dynamic is gross and weird") and juxtapose it against the shot, that of Bob asking Mary is he can steal her for a moment, and her leaning into him and actually responding, "I will give you many moments" in a social dynamic I find gross and weird. I'm not saying Lee-Ann should be sold as a collector's card and packaged with gum. She's still not my hero. But I am saying that if someone's gonna call this show on its bullshit -- whether as a result of a personally motivated agenda or no -- they might as well go ahead and let us watch it. Right before she gets booted so far off the show she ends up in deep space.
Mary "missed [Bob]. A bunch." Gross and weird. "On Sunday afternoons," she tells him, "I've gotta watch football." Can you stop being a Coors Light commercial fantasy and start being a human being in one minute? How about right now?
"When you go out there, I just want you to be prepared," Karin says ambiguously. "I'm fine," Lee-Ann responds in a way that means "I'm drunk." "I'm always fine. Do you ever see me crying?" She's so tired of talking about "Bob, every day of the week." It's true. It's so, SO true.
Outside. Guarded. Lee-Ann's snippy, but tells Bob she's okay. He keeps pushing her to tell him what's going on. "Are you still glad to be here?" he asks. The hole has been punched: "Sure," she says. Bob's not convinced and I am transcendently thrilled. Lee-Ann admits, "No. I'm not having a great time." She's "not used to, like, waiting for a rose, and [she] should be quivering...oh, please." She rants that there are "ten girls here and one of" Bob, which also seems like something she should have known. She doesn't like that she has to spend all her time being miserable except when she's with Bob, and this is somehow his fault. Inside the house, the girls whisper that Lee-Ann's putting him on the defensive. Outside, Lee-Ann says she's just trying to explain herself, and Bob submits, "I guess I never thought about..." "No!" she interrupts. "I don't think you do." Lee-Ann, dude, chill. He could have been on his way to saying, "I guess I never thought about how long it's been since I replaced my Brita filter in longer than the allotted three-month time frame," but you wouldn't know that because he hasn't gotten the leisure of a word in edgewise just yet. Not that I can so much stand the sound of his voice anymore, but I'm just saying that it's equal time for people who equally make me want to peel my skin off, layer by agonizing layer. Bob suggests that they take a walk before they go back in the house, and she pins him up against a tree and starts wailing that she has "never been the source of controversy." Cry cry cry. She has no idea where she stands. "If I'm not one of the last girls standing, send me home," she tells him. Bob tells us he has no idea what he's going to do, and as we retreat into the house, she asks him, "Do I look like a weeping bitch?" Yeah, sort of. Throw a shadow of it up against the wall and we'll tell you how close you got.
"I do take every moment I have with you seriously, and..." Ding ding ding. Oh, hi Chris. Weeks, it's been. WEEKS.
Chris fails to leave the recapping to the professionals, sitting down with Bob in the Room of Reckoning and gushing, "Wow. I don't think I've ever seen a night like the one I witnessed tonight. That was amazing." Well, whatever Chris was doing before he walked downstairs with his champagne glass and fork, time I want to do that instead. Bob responds that there has been "a lot more going on behind the scenes" than he had realized, and that he was caught off-guard by how people really feel. How they feel about the other girls, not how they feel about him. Anyway, this has made his decision extremely difficult, and he pays homage to this sacred room, this Temple Of Emotional Reckoning, telling Chris, "I actually need to use this room for what it's meant for." As opposed to when he uses it for band practice. Chris leaves Bob to his tortured emotional state, and leaves us to the torture of the video messages. Jenny had a wonderful time at the water park. Misty thinks their relationship has "definitely gotten stronger." Meredith wants to thank Bob for his overall fabulousness even in the face of Nana's Conveniently-Recurring Subplot. Estella is looking forward to spending an evening alone with him. Mary "loved when [they] sang to one another" and falling in love through that Cupid's Arrow known as karaoke, which means, by her standards, that I am about to become romantically involved with at least half of the writing staff of this website. ["I knew it! I knew you'd be my 'Father Figure' one day!" -- Wing Chun] Karin thinks they "have a lot in common." Brooke's eyes bug through the screen, looking as though the entirety of her video message should simply be, "I should be with you, Bob, because Large Marge sent me." Antoinette wants a one-on-one. Kelly-Jo "would love to hear [him] sing to [her] for the rest of [her] life." Woohoo, boys! Did someone say Reunion Tour? Lee-Ann thinks they "proved" that she wasn't Bob's least compatible, which means Video Message Lee-Ann and Stumbling Toward Nationally Televised Humiliation Lee-Ann probably haven't met each other in the dark corridors of the Time-Space Continuum just yet. She ends her message, "Give me a rose and we'll keep proving people wrong." Nothing like you and your mate against the world to keep the relationship sharp. There's. No. WAY.
"Tonight was very different," Chris tells the ladies as he brings the roses downstairs. He recaps that the "mood and the tone" have changed, reminding them that four of them are gone after tonight. Bob emerges from his lair, sharing similar sentiments of the wasn't-tonight-so-crazy variety, adding, "You women have amazed me." And here we go:
Mary, will you accept this rose? So now I come to you, with open arms/ Nothing to hide, believe what I say/ So here I am with open arms/ Hoping you'll see what your love means to me/ Open arms.
Kelly Jo, will you accept this rose? She's takin' it all the way, people.
Brooke, will you accept this rose? WHAT? Even Brooke is all, "Hey, that name sounds just like...wait, what?"
Estella, will you accept this rose? Meredith, get back in that line. Oh, wait. Another week of market confusion, coming up.
Meredith, will you accept this rose? Will you do it? For Nana?
Shut up, Chris.
Lee-Ann, will you accept this rose? Well, it was all building go that, wasn't it? Looks like a heartbroken Jenny is going to have to dodge the glare of the paparazzi by pulling the brim of that visor down lower than ever.
Lee-Ann hugs the ousted Karin and thanks her for being such a good friend. She reminds us that she "laid it all out on the line," and that it will be better for her that Jenny's gone. Why must it be left up to the Reunion Special to explain why people actually didn't like each other? We never even saw Jenny and Lee-Ann interact until the fight.
Jenny, meanwhile, wants to be Bob's friend, and she tells him so. He confirms that that's exactly what he wants, too! Which, when someone is breaking up with you (which, in its own mutant way, is what this is) and they tell you, "I want to be friends," what they actually mean is, "I never, ever, ever want to see you again. So leave my sight forever, because you disgust me in ways I can't quantify by the limited number of numbers that exist in the universe." Trust me on this. You'll be glad you did. In a confessional, Jenny mourns, "I don't compete for guys. I don't do anything fake. I'm just Jenny!" What is she, pitching a talk show? Anyway, she's crying. Don't worry, Just Jenny! He just told you he wanted to be friends!
Antoinette tells us, "This experience has taught me more about myself than I think I know!" Totally. "When I go out there, this is it. If you don't like this, you don't like it." He don't like it. But we'll miss you. Even though we'll come see you perform on the Queen Mary any time you're ready, lady. If that's your real name.
Karin is absolutely blissed out beyond all measure that she's out of there.
Oooh, Misty looks a mess, wouldn't you say? "It's just a crazy process, and you just never know what's gonna happen." She's not sure why things went the way they did, finding it "kind of confusing." Do you really want your name to be "Misty Guiney" for the rest of your life? Sleep on it in the limo. Wake up refreshed.
Back at the scattered chaos that defines the end of every Rose Ceremony, Misty hugs Bob noncommittally. He hazards a "thank you for being here," and she silently walks away. Oh, nice. Bob stares at Misty's back, thinking about how much he loves being the bad guy. I'm sure this won't eat away at him at all. Outside, she's wailing. Inside, they're toasting. And the Queen Mary sails on proudly.