Let's talk about Harold. Harold is twenty-nine, from Rock Island, Illinois, and lists his occupation as "Pro Hockey Player." That's odd. I've followed hockey my entire life, and, well, I didn't know there was a professional hockey franchise in Rock Island, Illinois. Isn't hockey season currently, like, occurring? He got his hockey team to make Meredith a jersey. It says "Bachelorette" across the back, and is emblazoned with the number "1." Just like Harold's chances of winning. Out of a thousand.
Jeff is in pharmaceutical sales.
Chris is an architect! How utterly fahn-cy. ["I always wanted to pretend to be an architect." -- Wing Chun] He's also from Boston. Which I've heard of. He has a gap in his bottom teeth. Which can be adorable, were he upside-down. 'Cause, see, it shouldn't be in the bottom teeth.
Brad is in pharmaceutical sales. He promises us that he's the chivalrous one in a relationship, adding that he has no doubt he'll be the guy to "get down on [his] hands and knees to propose" to his fiancée. Hands AND knees, eh? Will that be after the two of you have the romantic dinner where you share a plate of pasta and you roll a meatball over to her with your nose and then you each start sucking on a strand of pasta before discovering it's the very same strand and meeting adorably in the middle? Knees AND hands?
This is where my friend yelled, "It's the goofy one!" And is it ever. People, meet Robert from L.A., who is thirty-two and has the crazy Sideshow Bob hair intended to show just how goofy he is! He played a lot of Commodore 64 growing up, I'll bet. I don't know why I know. I just know. Anyway, I like him immediately, until he gets on this talking jag with no punctuation and he's all, "I spend most of my time if I can laughing my butt off and having a good time probably has something to do with my hyper nature and being slightly ADD but we won't tell her that HA HA HA HA HA!" Hey, Robert? One Don Henley said it best: "You can't hide your CRAZY eyes and your smile is a thin disguise." Meredith? Use what the good lord gave you and use those legs to RUN.
Trever has nary a prayer.
Anselm is an ah-tist from Venice, California. I used to live about sixteen feet from Venice, and I don't for the life of me know which hair salon you can walk into in Venice and announce, "Give me the Tchaikovsky!" Which, it seems, is exactly what Anselm did.