In fairness, my four-year-old niece also loves pink, and all of her clothes are pink, and everything she colors she will color only in pink crayon, including the face of Dora the Explorer, which, actually, undoes a lot of the underlying cultural background being laid by the visionaries who created this diverse character. But man, does my four-year-old niece love pink. Then again, my four-year-old niece is also four years old.
The curlicued script of the words "Trista and Ryan's Wedding" write themselves on the screen in the Microsoft Word font "Shameful Opportunism Sans Serif and Sans Dignity Bold." We fade in on the montage Trista has forced her life with Ryan to become lo these last seven months, cutting from the two of them posing with "friends" to skiing in Vail to feeding each other cake to tattooing the words "Nothing is real until it is recorded" on each others' backs and making them believe that they understand the collected works of Virginia Woolf. It's true that she said it, you guys, but I don't think this is what she meant. "It's been seven months since the show ended," we find out, finally landing on Trista "Opportunism Knocks But Thrice" Rehn, sitting in a makeshift confessional space (though I get that feeling that Trista's whole existence is one makeshift confessional space after another. In fact, I get the feeling that Makeshift Confessional Space is going to be the name of Trista's hand-biting tell-all of the reality show industry that she's going to write as soon as the final flashbulb pops and the divorce papers have been finalized. I'm guessing I'll be recapping that just after its publication date of, say, next Thanksgiving? Cool. See you all back here) wearing her Smart Glasses and adding, "In that time, it has been absolute craziness." Yeah, those vipers in the press just don't know how to leave a self-respecting private citizen alone, do they? We cut to another montage of Trista's successful press outreach: Trista and Ryan on the cover of Us Weekly. Trista and Ryan on the cover of TV Guide. Trista, her meta-cap on, on The Bachelor hosting a photo shoot for Extra for the cover of Modern Bride magazine. Trista finding numerous other methods of generally sucking at the teat of the Bonnie Fuller empire.
"We really can't walk down the street without getting recognized, or somebody taking a picture, or wishing us congratulations," Trista continues, obviously meaning "we" in the royal grammatical sense, seeing as I don't envision that there's actually a man involved anywhere in this process. More paparazzi. More cameras. More flashbulbs, leading to this recapper experiencing a hearing-the-voice- of-Mary-Hart-esque seizure of the first order from all this useless stimuli. A totally spontaneous moment (from the Latin root meaning "a carefully orchestrated press opportunity") ensues as another bride approaches Trista and wishes her good luck with her wedding, perhaps hoping that wandering into Trista's orbit will net her a fraction of the dowry being supplied to the couple by Papa Eisner and the rest of the ABC Family. Don't hold your breath, though, because I think all of the aspects of the typical dowry have already been allocated: the money, the land, the sheep. Or least the one poor, single lamb, being led blindly to the slaughter.