Fully Fletched

So as the semester progresses, I’m sure you’re all as stressed as I am and spend as much time staring at your bedroom ceiling in a panic coma as you do actually getting things done. I also recently became very interested in watching cooking videos of food I’ll never make, cleaning the kitchen, and, unfortunately, watching The Bachelor- ette Canada.

Firstly, I’m sorry, and secondly, uh, shut up.

I know it’s ridiculous, okay? I know. I spend 50 per cent of the show making fun of the concept, 40 per cent making

fun of the people on it, and 10 per cent checking if anyone just saw me smiling at it so I don’t get made fun of.

I’m going to say it again. I know it’s ridiculous. But after a day of doodling in the margins of my day planner because school deadlines have packed the day boxes tighter than my pants after Pizza Friday, I just want to get high off the desperate dating lives of a group of strangers.

Now, I don’t doubt that Snow White and the Seven Dorks are nice peo- ple. Some of these all-stars are even downright adorable, but COME ON. If I was The Bachelorette (which, let’s not kid ourselves, would never happen ‘cause they’d all bro-zone me by the first episode and I’d be their wingman, passing out roses to the hottest chicks at Sandals Jamaica), I’m just not sure

I’d feel comfortable with a group of dudes I didn’t really know wrestling in a sand pit to impress me. Actually, I know I wouldn’t be comfortable.

I also don’t understand how these guys have the self-control not to rip off their teal polo shirts and khaki shorts hulk-style and beat another contestant over the head with their acoustic guitar when they know he’s trying to get with the same chick. The amount of hugs exchanged by these muscle dummies goes against everything I know about The Bro Code.

And since when is it cool for a chick to make out with, like, three dudes in a night? One guy literally walked in on her awkwardly kissing another guy and was just like “Oh, sorry, bad timing, can we go on a date now?” WHAT? I’d bro-fight that muchacho so hard. No sand pit

needed.
Anyway, my point is it’s totally cool to

indulge in your guilty pleasures when you’re stressed once in a while. Even the straight up shameful ones that you shouldn’t even share with your Twitter followers, never mind write a column about, like watching The Bachelorette.

Stay sane, friends. Any way you can.

_________