This week’s column is going to be a little different because instead of picking my Boyfriend Of The Week as I would in the natural world, I’ve instead decided to pretend as if I’m the Bachelorette and HAVE to pick a boyfriend from her stable. Notice that I said “boyfriend” and not “fiancé” because I’m not a psycho who thinks it’s a good idea to search for a husband among a group of guys who abuse the word “journey” and climax to the thought of former high school classmates watching them on ABC.
So the challenge becomes: who would I choose to date if I was contractually locked into the show? Well, not that the guy who won’t take off his mask and West, whose first wife was found face down in a bathtub, don’t sound like whole bunch of fun, but I think that I would have to go with J.P. from Roslyn, New York.
J.P., consider this column my rose.
1. I liked the wool high-collar coat he was wearing in his clip package.
Look, almost any guy can look decent in a suit, and that’s why cotillion used to throw me off. It was hard to tell what you were really dealing with with a guy from another elementary school when you couldn’t see him in casual wear. And it’s the same deal on the Bachelorette. A lot of the time the guys are either in suits or standardized date outfits, and you don’t realize who likes to wear green mini shorts until you take him all the way to the final three in Hawaii.
That’s why I took such notice of the coat J.P.’s wearing as he walks around Manhattan— because it’s a really good-looking coat. He looks simultaneously sharp and cozy in it, and from this snapshot of his personal taste, I become confident that he doesn’t own a pair of sport sandals.
2. I can recognize him.
It’s not that the suitors on The Bachelorette all have the same faces or characteristics. There are blonds, there are brunettes, there is sometimes even a black guy (except not this season, Ashley). But there is also this phenomenon where they all start to look the same— and by that I mean there is an inner likeness that messes with my ability to tell them apart. Maybe the process is similar to how pet owners start to look like their pets, except in this case it’s that the bachelors start to look like the show. They become as impersonal and indistinguishable as the rosebuds waiting on that silver tray.
However, every time I see J.P. on screen, I’m like, “Hey, there’s J.P.!” I know him right away, which seems positive if we’re going to date each other for this week. This might have to do with his eyes, which instead of being wide and overeager, turn down at the outer corners to meet deep crinkles, evoking a textured combination of sadness and happiness. You know whose eyes they resemble? The Irish cop’s from Bridesmaids. Not bad! You know whose eyes the other contestants’ resemble? Each other’s.
3. He’s in construction.
You know I love a guy who knows how to build things. Just yesterday I watched my former Boyfriend Of The Week, Nick Offerman, as he showed Martha Stewart how to make a canoe paddle on her show, and man, did that ignite some feelings. All I’m saying is that if we were in a woodshop together, my heart would set it afire. You might also remember that my live-in love Brent built a house in Arkansas (and told me that it was “enough” about Nick Offerman yesterday).
I don’t really know what kind of construction sites J.P. manages, but I did see him wearing a hard hat and working on some building plans in his clip package, and hey, in light of the other choices, that’s good enough for me. I’ll take that any day over personal trainer Nick from Odessa, FL, who I know would never, ever shut up about protein and reps.
3. He’s not forcing it.
Tonight I just finished reading the People cover story about Kim Kardashian’s engagement, and it reports that she and Kris Humphries instantly bonded over their love of hot chocolate. HOT CHOCOLATE. I could write 10,000 words on why that’s such an incredibly tragic detail, but for now I bring it up because all of these suitors are desperate to find their “hot chocolate” with Ashley. They immediately bring out their stories of alcoholic dads, of dentistry, of dancing, all with the hopes of locking onto whatever will get the biggest “me too!” out of her. Because on this show, “me too!” is love.
Not my J.P. He’s so laid back he even lands a “hot chocolate” moment without trying for one. As he’s telling Ashley how he got the nickname “cupcake” on a construction site for bringing in cupcakes, a big, dumb grin grows across her face because it turns out that she’s always wanted her future husband to call her Cupcake. That dream of hers is so stupid that it almost distracts from the fact that J.P. has an actual personality. But this is a very important quality. Even Brent, who tried to get out of watching this season, says, “Wow, a guy holding an actual conversation with actual content.”
So yeah, I’d pin a rose to that ass.