I need to meet new people.

I don’t get out of the house much. I don’t have a car. I would. Believe me. I would have a car. I really would. If I only had a job.

But I’m not giving up on true love just because I haven’t achieved a few goals in my life that I’ve been aiming for, and missing.

That’s why after watching The Bachelor one Monday evening, with Mom—of course— I decided to dig deeper into what producers might need from me as a potential contestant.

Mom said I would have to inform the producers I don’t know how to ride a bicycle, which isn’t true.

Mom wasn’t crazy about the idea of me dating thirty women at once. She said I’d practically be living with a “harem.” And I said, Mom, they wouldn’t be a harem. Besides, it wouldn’t matter because it’s my life, not hers. And if I want to chase a career as a reality show personality, then I will do just that.

So she asked, how are you going to remain Catholic?

In any event, I went to the website and read the eligibility requirements for The Bachelor, and I had to consider for the first time if I would be willing to face death, since I’d have to legally assume the risks “known and unknown” from certain activities including skydiving, water skiing, and ice skating, as the document stated. None of these I’ve done before, but hey, I’m open to new experiences. As long as I don’t have to pay for them.

However, since we were being honest, Mom said I would have to inform the producers I don’t know how to ride a bicycle, which isn’t true. I’ve just forgotten. But she warned me they might hold this against me in the application process.

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Mom, I said, it’s fine. They don’t have to know. But the producers have the right to ask her, or any third party, about my personal life. So I said, please don’t tell them.

She persisted with her point. What if I met a spectacular demise on television? Let’s say during a ride on a bicycle made for two, where I could easily lose my balance causing both my date and I to skid into a ravine. Would I know how guilty that would make her feel if she hadn’t said anything to prevent it from happening?

And, I protested.

Would you rather me die alone, Mom? Do you want your last memories of me to be how we watched the goddamned Bachelor together every week until the very idea I couldn’t give you children led me to end it all, for Christ’s sake?

That’s another thing, she said, pointing to where it said the producer of The Bachelor had the right to disclose any medical history of my mental health to a third party.

Mom, I can read it for myself without you literally breathing down my neck and leaving smudges on the screen of my computer with your fingers, I said.

I’m not a child.

And what about a political career? she said, you can’t run for office for a year after it airs! What if you wanted to be mayor? What if you wanted to make a difference in your community?

Mom, I said, I don’t want to make a difference in my community. At all.

But you might change your mind. Who knows what they want do a year from now?

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She was right. The program would require me to make myself available for six months to promote the program during the year following my submission. With my schedule, I didn’t know if I could commit to that. After all, I have a standing date with Mom to watch The Bachelor every week.

Besides, I don’t know if I want to get married, anyway. But it’s something I’m sure would kill Mom if I ever revealed that to her.

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