DISCLAIMER: If you do not enjoy The Bachelor/ette TV series, if you think it’s trashy, stupid, or you simply feel you are above that kind of smutt, then please, take a moment, and say your goodbyes. You will not find love here.
You owe The Bachelor a thank you.
Before The Bachelor started you were nothin’ but a disease. People actually came down with serious cases of you, treated only by copious amounts of caffeine, procrastination, and prayer.
If you had a face, people would punch it.
If you had a hobby, it would be showing up uninvited.
If you had a name, it would be Felicia. #byyyyye
Let’s face it. NOBODY LIKED YOU.
Even Sunday suffered thanks to you. On the eve of your arrival, thoughts of you alone could bring a grown man to sloppy giant man tears, and a woman to sudden and unexplicable urges to avoid meal-planning in favor of face-planting into a pizza.
And then, in March of 2002, something magical happened. Network television brought naturally and surgically-enhanced beauties alike to a mansion in California, all to pine after 1 man. In that moment, history was made. The Bachelor single-handedly restored our nation’s hope in you. Instead of a day to be feared and dreaded by the masses, you became an excuse to extend the weekend, whip out the bubbly, and lounge in our stretchy pants and fuzzy socks with our besties. You gave us a sneak peak into complete-stranger’s semi-sincere love stories, made us thankful that we would never have to kiss on camera in front of millions (cough, Ashley I., cough), and seriously freakin’ lucked out when Sean and Catherine single-handedly restored our nation’s hope in true love.
Thanks to The Bachelor phenomenon, we were snapped out of our Monday morning blues on our way into work by the sudden memory of last week’s preview for the show. You know, that horribly enticing and painfully misleading preview for the new episode? A preview so dramatic, any sane human would be incapable of tearing their eyes away? Yeah, that one. We realized, IT AIRS TONIGHT. And tonight? WE CELEBRATE.
And just like that, the weekend was extended. We had something to look forward to on Mondays again. We started walking into work with a skip in our step and rose-twinkles in our eyes. Lunch breaks were spent texting our friends about getting together for a viewing party and scouring Pinterest for cheese dip recipes. New friendships were forged over mutual love for Ben H. and disdain for Juan Pablo. People started creating brackets, betting on love, and embracing the opportunity to shamelessly judge ridiculously good-looking people who they didn’t even know.
Thanks to The Bachelor, people everywhere started to get excited about Mondays again (and yes, I’m talking about you too Mister. You ain’t foolin’ nobody with those crossed arms, eye rolls, and intermittent insults during the rose ceremony. Don’t want to admit it? Eeess ok. We all know you’ll be tweetin’ and sippin’ with the best of ’em by week 3).
Oh Monday, you prodigal son you, that is why you owe the Bachelor a solid fist pump or two. Without it, your reputation would remain as lackluster and unappealing as it once was.
But instead, we welcome you with our glasses of Riesling raised high. Here’s to your unexpectedly joyous redemption, feeling like we know The Bachelor contestants personally, actually feeling heartbroken when our favorites don’t receive roses, and shamelessly stalking their Instagram accounts for weeks to come. Here’s to having an excuse to get together in our sweats and sip wine on a weekday. Here’s to celebrating Mondays for #alltherightreasons.
Ps. You should probably send Sean and Catherine an edible arrangement. And while you’re at it, send one to Emily Maynard too. I’m pretty sure she single-handedly doubled the number of men joining in on your revival.
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