My lovely friend Betsy (she of the recent engagement) was in town yesterday, en route to France, where she and her fiance, Fipp, are spending the summer. Betsy is one of my favorite people because she says things like: "I'm finally able to say that I like The Bachelor and I'm OK with that." I still pretend that I watch reality shows because there's nothing else on, when in fact the show has been in my Microsoft Outlook calendar for over a week ... with one of those red exclamation points people use to mark events of utmost importance.
Betsy and I have a friendship based on shameless honesty. She is perhaps the only friend about whom I can say this. The moment she knew she wanted to be my friend, Betsy says, is the moment when I told her, one late night at a karaoke bar, "You can sing the first verse with me so that I won't be nervous, but then I want you to get the hell off the stage and let me shine." I knew I truly loved Betsy when, one tear-streaked New Year's Eve, I saw my crush go into the bathroom to make out with another girl and Betsy promptly banged on the door, claiming that she had to pee. Bets and I are most ourselves plopped on the couch making bitchy judgments about TV stars. We apply our film school-honed analytical skills to shows like The Bachelor and American Idol, totally embracing the fact that there are about a billion more important things we should be talking about.
Anyway, I guess this post doesn't really have a point except for, Bets, I miss you. And ... I love The Bachelor, too! There, I said it! You complete me!