"Oh come on, look at this, this is not right".
Looking up I was horrified to see what had happened, Jack and his remote control finger flick habit had stumbled onto the Bachelorette. You look away for just one moment and worlds collide.
"Fiction. Not possible, where did they find all these guys so eager to be married?".
Agreed, in Jack's world there were no shortage of guys happily spending their days in a blissful bachelorhood stupor. Happy hours, drunken barbecues at Don's, last minute trips to New Orleans, his two day per weekend golf habit, combined with the two soon to be divorced dudes bunking on his couch, all compelling reasons to not find yourself as a contestant on the Bachelorette. That each one of his former bachelor loving friends is now married with kids, including my bachelor, was not given consideration.
He was now engaged in true train wreck form, paralyzed from the waist up, unable to move away from the disaster unfolding before him. Oh please, let him doze off, please let him miss this, "Scrapbook is not a verb!", yelled the man unable to properly use a glue stick, "this guy made a scrapbook?".
Jack on the Bachelorette? On principle he would have not offered his jacket to the chilly bride hopeful, refusing to dance the same dance as all the others, and would have suggested, quite likely, that she find something suitable to cover up with, while thinking that either she, or the wardrobe people were not bright enough to remember to pack a sweater. There would be no scrapbook, nor ramblings on love or soul mates, and certainly not a poem. He would not mention his family, or his never ending love for his mother, he would not hypothesize as to the perfect wife nor speculate as to the number of children he hoped would someday bear his name. He would not expound upon his dreamy childhood and the amazing bond that has kept his parents together for forty years. He would not reveal the origin of his tragic nickname, if he had one. In short, he would be a terrible candidate, not at all considered genuine husband material when evaluated on these terms and in the end, sent packing, sans rose.
Worked out well for me, and I always bring my own cardigan.