Environmentalists and First Time Princesses
I didn’t plan on blogging this.
Hell, I didn’t plan on watching this.
But it looked like Classic Fox, straight from Mike Darnell’s heydey as vice president of alternative programming. (Read: top dog of the trashiest shit on television in the late 90s.)
And then I heard “Harry’s” real name. I’m pretty sure he’s not who I hoped he’d be (*sigh*), but a girl can dream!
(Besides, if he really was who I wanted him to be, why would I be so shallow as to go for Prince Charming when I really wanted King Charming to begin with?!)
Sidebar: The gentleman who I thought Matt might be is probably still working as a Jewish rapper. (No, really. I mean, if Matisyahu can make it…?)
Seriously, these girls aren’t as big a bunch of dumbasses as I thought. I mean, yeah, they’re still shallow, plastic bitches (like on most reality shows), but honestly, they had no idea who they were meeting. They were just shuttled off to a castle in England, knowing that they were going to meet a man and…that’s it.
They only presumed they were meeting Prince Harry, because that’s who their suitor looked like.
Their suitor, who is actually a blonde environmentalist by the name of Matt.
Poor Matt is so average that he borrows a friend’s bike to get to work every day. But some nice clothes, red hair dye; etiquette, polo and skeet lessons; drilling on the facts of real Harry’s life, a few fancy toys and a full staff work wonders–especially when you’re seven years younger than the real thing.
…and my train of thought? *whistles* Gone.
Suffice it to say, I don’t know if I want to record the next seven weeks. (I’d watch, but I’m supposed to be in class.) My favorite girl, Leah, is already gone, so it will be seven more weeks of backstabbing and bitchiness, right down until the end where Matt says, “_____, I’m not Prince Harry.”
But I do like Classic Fox reality.
Do you want to know why I knew Leah would go home? She’s too much like me. Laid back, real, not grasping, bitchy or conniving. I mean, I understand where Matt was coming from (poor, sweet guy–so much pressure!) when he said she looked like she wasn’t having fun, but it looked like she wasn’t fitting in, either. (At least she wasn’t like that Plastic Princess who had at least five cocktails during the masquerade. Yikes!)
And now we know (as I suspected) that if you’re invited to the drawing room, you’re going home.
It does mean “withdrawing”, after all.