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If My Son was The Bachelor…

So I have a confession.

I’m totally into The Bachelor. Everything about it intrigues me, horrifies me, and gives me great joy all in the same sitting. Never before have I watched a show where I simultaneously gasp, hide behind a couch cushion, and yell, “You go, girl!” And it’s no coincidence that I’ve contemplated moving to a farm as of late. Hellooooooo, Farmer Chris! Giddy up. Or something like that.  {It’s all good ladies, my hubby is well aware.}

And let’s not forget our fabulous host, Chris Harrison. I mean, really. This guy has it made. He appears for just minutes, always very stealth, panther-like if you will, and drops bombs like – “You are going to New Mexico!” It’s awesome-sauce. Yes, I said that. He also has the pleasure of repeating phrases like :: “The most dramatic <insert event here> ever!” and ” Ladies, Chris, the final rose.” He looks danged good doing it too. Texas boy – did you know this? My husband’s not-so-secret dream is to be Chris. No lie.

Anyway, my love for The Bachelor has run deep ever since Trista met what’s his name {Alan, Allen, Alex???} and then met Ryan. {They are still together by the way.} I will admit a brief hiatus somewhere between The English Guy and Juan Puablo but I.am.back., Bachelor Nation. My DVR is set every Monday night, and we have a standing date. That’s right. “We.” My husband watches too. And now I just called him out. #sorrynotsorry.

That all being said :: Y’all know I am infamous for disclaimers. So following the lead on one of the greatest blogger of all things Bachelor, Lincee of I Hate Green Beans, here is mine…

“The following 10 items are totally of my opinion and my opinion only {oh, and some contributors too!}. If you dated the guy who went to high school with the girl who worked at Victoria’s Secret with a contestant’s cousin, whom you kind of know as a friend but not really, but you’re friends on Facebook and you secretly hate her posts, please take no offense. I’m sure they are awesome-sauce in real life. And virgins too.”

If My Son Was The Bachelor

If my son was The Bachelor, I’d tell him…

  1. Be, ummmm, conservative about the amount of kissing you do. It is NOT necessary to dip your pen in everyone’s ink. That’s just plain good ole advice in any situation. And son, if you honestly can’t carry on a conversation because you are just socially awkward, a substitution doesn’t always have to be swapping spit. Try a hug. Or have another drink. Alcohol flows freely in Bachelor Nation. Better vodka in your mouth than 6 other ladies’ germs.
  2. No matter how good your chest and pecs look onscreen, you must wear a shirt under your hoodie and at least zip it past your navel. Speaking of partial nudity, seeing your son shower {in an outside shower of all places} with Jimmy Kimmel is frightening. Don’t do that. The imagery will be forever burned in my mind.
  3. Any girl who asks you to rub “her genie” {aka navel ring} is NOT a virgin. Doesn’t mean she’s not sweet, but for.the.love. #shes’sagenieinabottle #don’trubhertherightway
  4. Speaking of virgins, I’m assuming you are still one. {Let me enjoy my naivete.} So instead of having the cameras zoom out as you close the door on your so-called fantasy suite dates, please invite them in to watch you play Jenga and Uno while you drink Capri Suns, eat pizza, and throw back some M&Ms. Then I would respectfully ask that you instruct the cameramen to air footage of your potentially betrothed exiting said suite at the respectful hour of 9PM. You need your rest, son. Always, remember :: Mommy knows best.
  5. Perhaps the sweet girl who drags you back into your little house on the sweet proposition of “I just want to see where you live” isn’t so sweet. Or that innocent. Watch out for the quiet ones, especially the ones named Jade who proudly sports a nude bikini top. {Not to brag, son, but I called that one a mile away – Jade is a total stripper name. Not saying she is a stripper, but she’s definitely been in Playboy. Allegedly. According to my googling skills. And don’t ever, ever, ever underestimate how quickly your momma can look up a potential mate.}
  6. If you live in Random City, population 346 Iowa, don’t pick the chick who doesn’t look like she could go one week without getting her false eyelashes done. Just a guess – the farm doesn’t have a tanning bed. And my educated suspicion is your wife’s highlights will need to be done old school via a cap and an expired box of  Clairol “Sexy Blonde.” Let’s not forget to mention if she sleeps in her makeup and doesn’t shower, like ever, then straight up, EWWWWWW.
  7. Never choose the girl who can’t either stand up straight, walk across the room without tripping, or can’t seem to stop banging her head against the wall in your motorcycle helmet “for fun.” NEVER. {Son, please stop riding the motorcycle. It makes Mommy nervous.} See also :: Twerking upside down against a wall may seem like a cool party trick at a frat party. Not appropriate for the wife who will bear my grandchildren one day.
  8. If she has crazy eyes, she probably is crazy. Also, if she says, and I quote :: “”Isn’t my story amazing? It’s tragic. But amazing. I love my story.” and it’s referring to the “story” of her BEING A WIDOW, then ding, ding, ding – she needs medication, a padded room, and possibly an investigation into her former true love’s early demise. Not a husband and not my son.
  9. If she’s willing to wear a bikini, walk down a high-traffic street in Los Angeles for one mile, AND then subsequently hop on a tractor with no regards to possible chafing issues, then she’s probably a good time…but not-so-much marriage material.
  10. And son, if you really love me {and remember I was the one who carried you for nine long months with the stretch marks and hospital bills out the wazoo to prove it}, PUHLEAZE hook me up with a master stylist and makeup artist for the date where you bring those skanks nice young ladies over to my house to meet me. After all, I need to look good when I tell them that they are all no good for my precious baby boy. Also, if they can spring for the Botox, tummy tuck, and coloring job, I’m certainly not opposed. Their budget is big, right? I mean, it’s not like I’m asking to ride an elephant in Thailand.

Actually, dear son on The Bachelor. I don’t think I can watch. Because momma still remembers you as her only baby boy, enjoying sweet snuggles, wiping your butt, making you chicken nuggets and mac ‘n cheese, and carrying you everywhere with the most precious smile on your face. I still see you that way. And I really don’t want to see you any other way. But seriously, still send ALL THE BOTOX. Love, Mommy

Any other Bachelor Nation fans out there? Who else has this guilty pleasure? Clearly, we could have posted more than 10, so sound of in the comments!

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3 Responses to If My Son was The Bachelor…

  1. Jessi February 10, 2015 at 2:42 pm #

    OMG I looooove this!! I’m totally addicted to Bachelor and this season is one of my favorites since Chris is from Iowa (where I live). I am always screaming about #6 and cannot believe that he isn’t discussing the realities of life in a small town with these city girls. It’s a great guilty pleasure!! 🙂

    • Meagan C
      Meagan C February 11, 2015 at 12:20 pm #

      Haha, Jessi! That makes me laugh – seriously, he needs to be asking those tough questions!!! Glad to know I’m not the only one watching 🙂 Thanks for reading, girl!

  2. Chelsea @ Simply Chelsea Blog July 12, 2016 at 2:44 pm #

    Just stumbled across this post.. LOVE IT!! It sure would be a weird (for lack of a better word) experience seeing my little boy on that show!

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