… and we have our first nervous breakdown! And the show hasn’t even premiered yet! Will this be the best season ever, because the pressure of getting a First Impression™ rose has already destroyed at least one fragile seeker several days before the latest cycle even begins? Are you already picturing a broken figure, kneeling uncomfortably in a cocktail dress in the center of an ululating circle of 26 women sloshing bottomless glasses of Chardonnay, sobbing her eyes out as she’s suddenly covered in a deluge of fiery red petals? Can misery come that quickly to any one contestant, when there has barely been time to roll your wheelie suitcase into a bedroom shared with a real-estate agent from Tucson and a personal style coach from Santa Barbara, much less form any kind of emotional attachment to a near-total stranger you hugged at the top of a turnaround driveway just moments after being disgorged, clown-car-style, from a rented limousine? Are we getting too excited already? Maybe we’re getting too excited already?
Oh, maybe we should back up a minute. The Bachelor returns for a TWO-NIGHT PREMIER EVENT (caps theirs, ours) this Sunday, Juan-ary 5 (pun theirs, rage seizure ours). There is a Friday and a Saturday still to come before that (we suggest some form of mild hibernation to mitigate the waiting-tremors), and we already might have our first sacrifice upon the altar of ForeverLove. Chris Harrison grows stronger with each one. The host-beast must be fed, and he’s dining early. Be afraid. We have to go now because we are trembling. Happy Juanary. [Swallows eight full roses, chokes on thorns, dies.]