Chris tells the girls, "They're going to move in with you for a little bit" in a tone so sarcastic and sad that you half-expect him to tack on a rueful, whispered aside of "Wonderful. More mouths to feed." An absolute slave to process, Chris vamps on, recounting the actual rules and format of this show, now in its fifth identical season: "You're all gonna go on a date with Bob. There's [sic] three intimate one-on-one dates and a group date. They're here to decide who gets that one-on-one time." It's no wonder Chris always seems so incredibly tired and blas about everything this season, what with his second full-time job at The Department Of Inessential Tasks taking up the main bulk of his time. Running a government agency is tiring, V-neck-sweater-wearing work, people. Man. Look in those eyes. Chris has had it with this noise. What an irony that he waited so long to be offered a rose from Trista, and now the first rose he's ever being offered is the one at the end of the metaphor about the bloom being off of it. "Jamie, remember you're here as Bob's friend," Chris volleys, hoping to land some A-material right at the end of his set and make us forget the tiny pencil sketch illustration of Chris Harrison's face to the entry for the entry for "in, phoning it" in the latest edition of the OED. Hands off the ladies, Jamie! You never being able to get laid might be television's most compellingly tragic B-story. Just don't have a panic attack and go tell Caroline Rhea all about it again, or you'll risk becoming television's least compelling C-story. Just don't freak out, man. DON'T FREAK OUT.
We begin with Lee-Ann, first in friend interviews and last in roses this week. As she follows Jamie and the rest out to the lanai, we check in with Bob's partner-in-law Katina, who tells us, "The qualities that Bob needs in a spouse are definitely a strong-willed person, someone that can stand on their own two feet." Let's just rubber-stamp the word "sic" over the number agreement in that entire sentence so that I don't jam my italics feature trying to note each one separately, okay? Thanks. The first question Greg asks of Lee-Ann is, "How do feel about the fact that Bob's been married before?" Because this is Fakeland and a game, Lee-Ann is able to deadpan a response that, when NOT delivered on television would probably sound more like "Yeah, the dude's thirty-two and divorced. And in a band. And lives in Michigan. And I think I'm gonna go on a date with someone else now, thanks." But this is Fakeland, where he's got a book deal and I have...well, none. And in that universe, Lee-Ann responds, "I think that once you've been in a marriage, you kind of know what it takes." We then montage through the tulips, Kelly Jo piling on with her answer to the same question, "Seems like he really learned from the experience." Man. You really gotta give credit to the PR guys down at , because they have managed to make divorce seem like a character-builder worthy of a stint in the armed forces (www.godivorce.gov, where you can be your own, broken, alimony-paying, singles-bar-hopping, past your prime, Army Of None). They could have pulled any sideshow freak onto this show and called him The Bachelor, and just as a result of their media coaching, could have ended up with responses from the girls ranging from "I think that once you've been in prison, you kind of know that killing is wrong" to "I think that once you've been in a mental institution, you kind of know that cooking your grandmother into a pie and serving it at Thanksgiving dinner isn't a stunt that forensic experts and police investigators will deal with lightly." This has been "One to Grow On."
“ Estella thinks that 'there isn't really anyone wearing the pants.' True enough. But you can't live in the hot tub forever. ”
Not that I'm ideologically opposed to divorce. Some of my best parents are divorced. I'm just saying in the real world this shit would never fly. I know a lot of twenty-four-year-olds, and not one of them is dating a thirty-two-year-old divorcee. Well, one. But talk about daddy issues.
Recap. Right.
Greg is getting so close to being the host of The New New New New Newlywed Game that I simply can't believe he hasn't asked any questions making liberal use of the word "whoopee," but he soldiers on bravely, "Who typically wears the pants?" It's just another day at Bachelorville, the esteemed capital of the sovereign nation of Montagetopia, as we rapid-fire through the responses: Brooke thinks that "the man should" wear the pants, but no matter who is and who is not wearing the pants, I can state clearly that nobody in the couple and nobody on the planet should be wearing Brooke's white, mesh 18th-century gay hobo hat. Look at that gay 18th-century hobo thing! She seriously looks like Ebeneezer Scrooge is about to toss a nickel over a balcony and call out on Christmas morning, "You there! Go buy yourself the biggest turkey in the whole market! And a bottle of Shiraz!" Because she's a gay 18th-century hobo, is why.
Estella thinks that "there isn't really anyone wearing the pants." True enough. But you can't live in the hot tub forever.
Meredith says something about wearing "the shorts." Oh, I get it.
I don't get it at all.
Greg -- who will probably be hosting this show by the end of this episode -- defers to Katina for the question: "Sex after marriage, after the third date, or when it feels right?" Lee-Ann whispers a stunned "Oh, man," because she apparently heard the question asked as "Make the sound of having sex after marriage, after the third date, or when it feels right." Estella says, "On the first date...oh I'm sorry, did you say the third date?" Because showing your man's friends what a big whore you are always scores the points. Brooke drops the virgin bomb. Oh, honey, aren't we all? Oh, and has anyone else noticed that Enrique Iglesias's mole apparently decided it wanted to try acting on the small screen, and has permanently taken residence on Brooke's face? That mole is The Mole That Ate The Ottoman That Ate Cleveland. Everything on this show is hungry except those emaciated bitches.
Failing with Trista and then spending the six months playing skinny sidekick to a fat, funny, headliner must really have taken its toll on Jamie, because he's reduced to the singular conversational strategy of "edgewise." He gets in his one sentence of the episode, leaving even linguistic staples such as the subject and the interrogative framing out, just in case he gets cut off and we're forced to forget who Jamie is all over again. He asks, "Ever had a one-night stand?" No, never, never, no, no, never. This montage plays like a patter song from a Sondheim musical. And the chorus of that song is "Bullshit." None of these girls went to college? Everyone's had a one-night stand. Fine. Make me look like whore, why don't you? Katina: "Long engagement or a rush to the altar?" Estella likes it long. Kelly Jo wants Bob to fly her to Vegas immediately. Mary professes her "deep, serious love" for Bob and then, as if not desperate and haggard enough, says she'd like a quick engagement because she wants to have kids. The biological clock is running out of the time. Poor, old, broken Mary. In bed, are you a tiger or a kitten? Everyone says "tiger" except Meredith, who says she's "both." Which would be like answering "both" to the question, "In the fruit bowl, are you the apples or the oranges?"