The Date Box is here! The Date Box is here! It seems to be...a child's coffin! Oh, how romantic. Appropriately, the note inside reads, "When our romantic evening leaves you buried in my love, you'll soar like a third-world country's infant mortality rate." Sorry. But it's not my fault they promoted Edgar Allen Poe to supervising producer. "Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous broken heart/shattered ego!" And yes, I blame this show entirely for leaving me so creatively bereft that it's led me down the long, slippery slope to dead-baby jokes. I should pack my bags and go. Lock up your husbands, ladies.
Okay, fine. The note is for Jessica B., and here's what it actually says: "Tonight I'll make a few passes if you'll wear my jacket and be my girl." She just about melts at the language of it; I, too, have often wowed the ladies with the international language of strained sports metaphors as scribed by the producer I keep on retainer for such moments as this. Jessica removes from the box a red and white letter jacket, a souvenir from the team The California Footballers. Jessica's jacket has the number "3" written across it, which stands for the approximate number of professional football games Jesse has participated in in which his team has won.
Oh, bonjour! Jesse "J'Adore La Futbol American" Palmer chills in the back seat of a red convertible, decked out in an unzipped black jacket and a pale blue turtleneck from the Sprockets Gay fall collection. His hair is so afraid of his ensemble that it looks like it's trying to run in the other direction, like he walked into the Supercuts right next to the Meadowlands and demanded, "Give me the cartoonishly terrified, please." But then, I guess that's the kind of request you can make when you're as unaccustomed as Jesse is to wearing a helmet on a regular basis. He furthers the utter non-plot plot of Jenny/Jesse's Friend/Posed as a Bachelorette, explaining, "There's no point in just walking in there and pretending it didn't happen." It didn't happen. Nothing happened. No one cared. Except Trish, who opens the door wearing another shirt over a t-shirt doubtlessly reading "Actually, I don't care that much either." Jesse tells the women that they all look nice, and they return the compliment by silently agreeing that yes, they do think they look nice. You guys? They hate him. And not even in subtle, we-can-change you ways, where they're all "if only you were taller" or "no, seriously, tell me again about your band" or other things about past Bachelors that seemed slightly more fixable. They find him dull, unlikable, and seemingly made of bricks (dumb bricks, at that), and we agree. Jesse speaks to them in an off the cuff fashion with the studied oratory of a present-day Presidential press conference: "I know that what has happened today has probably been very confusing for some of you, and I hope that you all can see how important this is to me, and I hope that you guys can all see that Jenny's intentions were really honorable." Suzie tells us in a confessional that she thinks Jenny's presence in the house confirms that Jesse is in this to really find the right person and get married. I agree with that seemingly arbitrary correlation, and will extrapolate it to mean that the presence of soap scum on my shower curtain means that one day there will be a free Tibet. And I'll stop using that joke construction the moment these girls start talking some damn sense.