And just when you think things can't get worse, Harrison shows up and starts talking about people being there "for the right reasons" which always sets my teeth on edge, and then he summons Ali and Roberto in, who used to be on this show and who were fortunately available (it's always nice when Ali's able to get the time off work) and apparently they are going to take some time off from pretending to plan to get married, and they're there to talk to the contestants and determine who's there for the right reasons, like this is some kind of measurable thing. Jesus, it's like an inquest.
This is a relief for Brad, because all the drama is clouding his judgment. What judgment? You already gave Michelle a rose. Also, you CAME ON THIS SHOW AGAIN.
We get an interminable montage of Ali and Roberto asking these idiot women stupid questions. Melissa thinks that she needs to get Ali on her side, and she seems to think the best way to do that is to cry and act like a basketcase in front of Ali and Roberto.
Anyway, Brad sits down with Ali and Roberto, looking for some help. "I think you've got a lot of great girls," says Roberto, a statement that does not seem to have any basis in reality, which makes sense, what with him agreeing to pretend to be marrying Ali.
We don't really see any discussion, but then Brad goes out and selects Emily for the rose, seemingly partly because she got a thumbs-up from Ali and Roberto. Does she tell him about her daughter? She does not.
Rose ceremony. Raichel looks anguished, Melissa keeps looking sideways at her. Of course, the two of them are standing next to each other.
And now on to the cull! Brad comes out and gives the usual speech about getting to know each other or whatever, and then gets down to business. Chantal O. Sarah, who says it's like Christmas, which makes me feel sad for whoever spends the holidays with Sarah. Allie. Kimberly. Shawntel. Stacey. Ashley S., not the dentist (who already has a rose). Madison. Seriously? At least she hasn't been baring her fangs, except in the service of making an already ridiculous Red Cross PSA even more confusing. Lisa. Marissa, who is a dead ringer for Jillian. Meghan, who I don't remember at all, is next, followed by Lindsay. And the last rose goes to Britt, who looks really sweet with her hair up.
That means Keltie, Melissa and Raichel and her boobs are gone. Not a bad culling! At this stage, despite her name, I would rather have kept Keltie and let Michelle go home. Next week! PLEASE GOD, next week.
Keltie is utterly destroyed, awarding herself the "Bad Dating Oscar" because nothing works out for her and she's starting to feel like she should just be alone. "This is kind of like my last-ditch effort," she tells us. She's tried all kinds of methods -- blind dating, online dating, having sex with everyone at the office -- and now she's giving up, and she's just going to focus on "kicking." (Remember, she's a Rockette.) Well, sure, "kicking" has endless career opportunities. Melissa seems to think she was targeted because the other women wanted one fewer woman in the house. Uh, maybe, but contestants get kicked off at each rose ceremony whether one of them was "targeted" or not. Not sorry to see Melissa go. Maybe she can learn to wear a dress that she doesn't need to yank up on her boobs every five seconds? Speaking of breasts, Raichel seems pretty hurt. On the one hand, she's a knockout. On the other, she's kind of a shit-stirrer and she describes herself as a manscaper.
It's not my birthday or anything next week, but I really must insist that Michelle get sent home. There's a public service announcement: act like a horrible person, get punished for it.
Of course, that makes me wonder what I did to deserve The Bachelor.
Daniel is a writer in Newfoundland with a wife and a daughter. He thinks it's only understandable for a birthday girl to act like Michelle did when she can still count her birthdays on the fingers of one hand. And even then, she would need a talking-to. Follow him on Twitter (@DanMacEachern) or email him at firstname.lastname@example.org.