Week two already? Wow, time flies when you’re making fun of people on TV. It’s another gorgeous, sunny day in Bachelorette land, and Harrison welcomes the “men” to the living room for the standard group date, individual date, date rose rundown. (Shirt: slate blue. Cuffs: unbuttoned. Don’t worry — Harrison can pull it off.) I’m a little thrown off, however, because the men have no mimosas. The “ladies” ALWAYS get mimosas at the Date Card Drop Off.
Somehow, they soldier on, and Ames — who, as a commenter called “texas” brilliantly put it, “looks like a Ken doll who slipped through quality control” — reads the date card. “William, want to make a splash in Vegas?” The cellular phone salesman (ugh, just typing that makes me sad) is nervous that he might “blow it,” but it’s probably too late to worry about that. Ashley, sporting a super-tight white lace minidress, drives up in her cute little convertible and fetches William. “She’s driving?” marvels one of the Interchangeable White Guys, who perhaps would feel more comfortable in Saudi Arabia. As a private jet whisks William and Ashley off to Vegas, Jeff — who, impressively, has managed to make himself look worse by putting his mask on over a knit cap — chats with Ames about (what else?) his mask. “Now that we’re in 90 degree weather,” asks Irregular Ken, “do you wish you wore a white mask?” Good point. But there’s a method to Jeff’s madness — though that method is, in a word, incomprehensible. “With me coming in the house with this mask on my face, I’ve taken a stealth approach, and I feel like a lot of the guys are just riding around in cabs.” Okay, I didn’t get an 800 on the verbal portion of my SATs, but I’m pretty sure there’s no analogy that pairs with “stealth : taxicab.”
Meanwhile, in Sin City, disposable camera flashes are a-poppin’ as tourists spot Ashley on her date. “I’m so happy that you’re the new Bachelorette!” gushes one nice blonde lady. (See? We told you! shouts Team Bachelorette. We don’t need Chantal! We don’t need anybody!) As part of a blistering satire of prevailing social stereotypes about single women, Ashley drags William from high-end store to high-end store to prepare for their “wedding.” Cake? Check. Bling? Check. Minister who I am hoping gave every dime he received for participating in this stunt back to his church? Check. And with that, in walks Ashley down the aisle, her horrible white minidress finally explained. Trooper that he is, William — turning redder by the second — plays along, even going so far as to say, “I do” when Rev. Sell-out poses the question. While he’s certainly passed Ashley’s “test,” William’s nerves of steel leave the Bachelorette all shaky. “If we go through with this we’re going to be legally married!” she squawks to the cameras. (Unless she signed a marriage license when the cameras weren’t looking, this assertion is completely false.) So, with an explosion of shrilly nervous laughter, Ashley pulls the plug on the faux nuptials and finally frees William from his waking nightmare.
The sun goes down, and the duo head to dinner in the middle of the Bellagio Hotel’s moat, or whatever you want to call it. Call me crazy, but having dinner on a tiny platform rising out of brackish recycled fountain water while the glare of dozens of camera crew lights causes everyone within a 300 foot radius to turn and stare does not sound romantic or fun. “We love you Ashley!” screeches a pack of bleach blonde female tourists on the sidewalk. (Somewhere, Team Bachelorette stomps their collective foot and yells, SEE? We totally made the right choice. Just SHUT UP about it already!)
NEXT: ‘Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe.