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I need to get myself on a dating show. Not because I’m that desperate for a date (no, my love life, or lack thereof, is fodder for a different blog), but because I can’t imagine actually being in a situation so contrived. In fact, I’ve been in scripted plays that have seemed more realistic.

I just don’t understand it. How can anyone who has actually watched The Bachelor believe that this is the way to find love. Or even that these women are anything accept silicone, blond #14, and the deep-set fear of being alone at 30.

Example time.

The Bachelor asks his two desperate hunnies with whom he is on a date whether they would consider relocating for him. I’m pretty sure one of them got whiplash from how fast she tried to answer. Seriously, they just said the exact same thing (Yes, yes, please, if that’s what it takes for you to marry me, yes.) as quickly as they could, and at the same time.

Then there is every time any one of the desperate girls are alone with their potential mate (and I think mate is the only appropriate term to use here). It seems like every single time that there’s a one on one date (or whatever they call it) the girls just spend their time telling the mate that they have trouble properly expressing their emotions and that they really want to be here. They really, really want to be here.

Now, if we’re getting into less reputable dating shows *cough* Rock of Love *cough* there is also the added element of the other contestants telling the potential mate what any particular girl really wants.

“She doesn’t really love you.” Says middle-aged rock star who never made anything of herself about the stripper. “She’s only in this for sex and fame! By the way… did you listen to my demo tape… on the air, maybe?”

The point is, I am a sucker for fake emotion (yeah, sometimes Oprah makes me cry), and shows like this kind of make me hurt inside. Not a hurt like I’m going to cry for all these women are going through, a pain like I get when I watch a Ninja Turtles movie that sounds like it was written by a five year old on LSD. It’s the pain of bad dialogue or, in fact, of any reality show dialogue that pretends it wasn’t written by a professional (possibly also on LSD).

So, anyway, next week is a sexy pool party on The Bachelor. I think I’d rather get an exceedingly painful bikini wax. Sadly, I’ll probably watch it anyway.