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Roger Truesdale: Finding true love in the fantasy suite


Roger Truesdale



How I got hooked on "The Bachelorette," I''ll never know.  


I''m so ashamed. 


For those of you who make better use of your time, it''s a reality series/contest produced by ABC.   


Over the last few weeks, an unattached, smart, articulate and attractive 30-year-old Canadian woman -- the bachelorette -- has held court over 20 or so bachelors who are there to compete for her hand. 


She is one powerful woman. 


Magically, the bachelors, after seeing her for the very first time, fall head-over-heels in love with her and the game''s on. 


It''s amusing to watch a bunch of guys who appear to have walking-around sense strut their stuff week after week vying for the affection of a woman they know absolutely nothing about.  


At the end of each episode, the bachelors present themselves to the bachelorette like you would expect to see at a line-up in a police station. All the shuffling back and forth reminds me of nervous perps gazing into a one-way mirror.   


At this juncture, the music editors and cameramen go to work creating as much suspense and drama as they can muster. The bachelorette summons each lucky (?) bachelor to come forward. After a hug and a kiss she pins the coveted red rose boutonnière to their lapel signifying to audiences far and wide that they are keepers. 


After a brief one-on-one farewell with the bachelorette, the unlucky (?) ones who didn''t get a rose are immediately sent packing and whisked away in a limo. To add to the drama, a cameraman is along for the ride. Most lament how the newly discovered love-of-their-life never got to really know and/or understand them. 


What a bunch of hooey. 


The rejected are simply shell-shocked from having been shot out of the saddle in front of a million or so viewers; and to add insult to injury, must face the even more humiliating prospect of returning home to a house full of unsympathetic guys gathered there only to question in every way imaginable their masculinity. 


What are good friends for anyway?   


The bachelorette''s not my type. 


The last couple of episodes have shown me that my instincts were right on. From the perspective of this not-that-prudish guy, the bachelorette and bachelors have taken their carrying-ons to a pretty low level. 


This past Monday night the three bachelors left standing from the week before were invited by the bachelorette to spend a night with her in the so-called "fantasy suite." 


Fantasy suite? 


That conjured up images of a night I spent in a cheap motel (alone) in Kentucky some years back. My room had a lava lamp atop the television, a ceiling fan with mirrored blades and a coin operated magic fingers bed that helped explain the desk clerk''s hefty supply of quarters that he kept in plain site on the counter behind the front desk. 


The bachelorette being "Willin''" as Little Feat''s front man Lowell George once sang, didn''t leave room for a lot of hem-hawing around. For the bachelors it was put up or shut up time. 


The bachelors -- three for three -- quickly accepted the bachelorette''s invitation to join her for a night in the fantasy suite with the honest intention of exploring the prospects of a long and lasting relationship. Yeah right. 


I know about Mississippi mamas. If mamas all across America are at all like the ones here, the welcome mat for a daughter-in-law, who was basing part of her marriage decision on how their little boy either (how should I put this?) managed, did, made out or performed in the fantasy suite, would be rolled up and stored away for another day. 


The grand finale for this series will be a week from tomorrow night. I''m flabbergasted. If the two bachelors left aren''t serious about the bachelorette, they deserve an Academy Award. 


Somebody needs to get them on the phone to find out if they have thought this whole thing through. 


What if the "winner" really decides to marry -- in this case -- a bona fide trophy wife? 


In 15 or so years, is the happy couple going to dust off the old DVD player they have stored in the attic, gather the kids around the big screen and let them see how Dad won Mama''s heart over two other suitors in the fantasy suite competition? 


Those of us (me for sure) who have gotten hooked on this rubbish need to get a life.


Roger owns Bayou Management, Inc. and is also a semi-pro guitar player.


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