This week, images of Matty’s sordid past have emerged on various media outlets. There was a time, presumably pre-London, where Matty donned a hideous mop of a haircut and co-starred in an advertisement for a feminine hygiene product. In the ad, Matty asks his pretend girlfriend what she would take on a remote island for protection, and he is rejected in favour of…a tampon.
Poor Matty. No wonder he exiled himself from the land of his birth for four years in favour of the anonymity of England. And who would have known at that time that the ad would serve as a metaphor for his experience on The Bachelorette?
On the other hand, this first-hand experience with all things menstrual should have prepared him for his experience on The Bachelor. After all, he should be aware of that theory that a group of women livin in close proximity will end up synchronising their cycles. There’s plenty of evidence to support this in this episode. I’m not sure about the physical part, but at some stage they are all happy, grumpy and jealous at the same time. Except for Simone. In the story of Matty and the Bachelorette Dwarfs, she is just whiney. But more of that later.
When we first see the girls, they are all synchronised happy, happy, happy. Perhaps this has less to do with menstruation and more about the self-destruction of Jen.
Tara observes that they are no longer sitting under a ‘drama cabana’ because now it feels more like a ‘Christmas cabana’. I totally get this, because it’s just like at our house on Christmas Day, when, bellies full of ham and park and rum and coke, we sit around talking how much more enjoyable it was because a certain member of the family didn’t bother to show up (nor read this blog – so calm the farm, peeps!)
Maybe I was bit pre-mature in saying that all of the girls are happy, because Simone is her usual whiney self.
“I’m the only one who ‘asn’t ‘ad a single date…wah, wah, wah…”
And just like that, Osher arrives to drop a single date card which does nothing to improve Simone’s mood.
Laura gets the single date. Again. For like the fifty-third time.
Cut to Matty to justify his decision: “I think for Laura, being in this mansion with so many other ladies could feel like a competition.”
Surely he didn’t just say something so fricken obvious and stupid, but I rewound, and he did.
Having spent his watercraft budget on Laura already, this time he picks her up by car. The date card made some inane reference to stars. He asks her what she thinks that means.
“A conservatory?” replies Laura.
“Boooooorrrrring!” hoots Matt.
Then Laura realises that she has confused OBSERVATORY (a place where one gazes at the stars), with CONSERVATORY (a place where one makes jam), and becomes excited at the opportunity to view Uranus (boom-boom)
En-route, Matty asks Laura about her star sign, like every woman gets daily guidance from Mistress (insert exotic name of choice) on page 93 in (insert woman’s magazine title of choice). Then, because psychics are se boring, Matty takes Laura to a gypsy woman with a crystal ball.
The gypsy quickly fingers Laura’s ring before palming Matty’s watch. She reads that Laura is vulnerable and guarded and finding it hard to open up.
Like we needed a psychic for that?
Next minute the gypsy has disappeared, ring and watch and all.
Never mind. It’s night time now and the observatory has opened and Matty has a surprise for Laura…another girl.
Fortunately, this one is just there to operate the telescope, which after the obligatory viewing of Jupiter, focuses on a bland little star (oh how I love metaphor!) without a celebrity name. Luckily for the star, it’s ten thousand light years away which means it could already be dying and not have to find out that it has been named “Mattaura”.
Back at the house, the girls are discussing the date, which can be summed up thus:
Simone: Wah, wah, wah!
Elora: Laura’s already had enough time with him.
Florence: Are you serious, Bitch?
Simone: Wah, wah, wah!
Meanwhile, at the observatory, Laura utters the words that every man longs to hear:
“I really like you.”
That’s the most interesting thing about that entire date, and Matty thinks it’s rose-worthy. I think it’s booooorrring!
The next day all of the girls are invited out to the backyard where Osher has been very busy. He’s erected what he believes is every girl’s childhood: jumping castles and sexually suggestive games. In his downtime, Osher has also been trolling the Facebook pages of the Bachelorette parentals, and has managed to find the most hideous photos of each of the girls and print them on t-shirts.
“We have a ranga in ur midst!” says Osher, quizzically.
“I ain’t no ran-Ger,” replies Simone, too quickly. “Not up ‘ere. Nor down there eiver.”
But she was and she is. The evidence is on the shirt. T-shirts never lie.
Worst of all, Osher has been devising challenges. Humiliating, misogynist challenges.
The girls are soon lined up for the first quest. Their hands are bound behind them and a doughnut is suspended before them. No prizes for guessing what this is all about.
Simone: Wah, wah. What about me? I’m gluten free, wheat free, dairy free. “ ‘ang on. Why is my doughnut ‘alf the size of t’others?
That’s what something looks like with the life sucked out of it. Matty beware.
Anyway, in part because it was already half the size of everyone else’s, Simone’s doughnut falls to the ground, but to impress Matty, she drops to her knees, bends down and snorts it up like a pig.
“Oh my God,” exclaims, Simone. “It almost clogged up my hole!”
Distressing. Distressing indeed.
The second challenge is a childhood classic – if your uncle is Rolf Harris and he has brought a packet of “special balloons” to your birthday party. The girls must write a note and insert them into the balloons. Then each girl, with Matty, is to pop each balloon without using their feet.
Needless to say, the balloons are red and the popping attempts include rolling between breasts and pressing between hips, and Simone excels in both.
The third challenge is “Pin the Tail on the Bachelor.” Simone manages to plant her heart on Matty’s penis. Oopsy.
One of the girls observes that Simone is going about this challenge “all guts and glory”, or did she say “slutz and porno”? It’s like a Shakespearean tragedy. Simone’s fatal flaw is desperation, and she is surrounded by witches, who, after offering her hope, rejoice in her demise.
The final part of this date is quite convoluted. Osher has collected artefacts from each of the girls’ childhoods, which is just a little bit like an episode from Criminal Minds. It’s a dud deal, however. Even the editors can only find something interesting in three of them:
Florence once had a stuffed rabbit named Knuf (if it wasn’t so late, I’d have a go at a limerick!). She liked to cut its ears off for no reason.
That’s Knuf of that.
Elise’s item is a hat which symbolises adventures with her dad. Awwwww.
The most curious item of all is the one that Simone’s mother sends – a pair of itty bitty ballet slippers.
“What in ‘ell are those!”
Simone then confesses to camera that she has never once taken a ballet class in her life, but she makes up a story of being forced to dance until she was about ten and finally Abby Lee Miller tells her to pack her bags and her mum’s as well.
Anyway, Elise gets the one-on-one time; third time in three episodes, each as boring as the last.
Remember that stuff about synchronising cycles? There could be something to that because everyone is jealous and territorial. Matty insists on having all his conversations within earshot of the other girls and Laura is not happy at all, nor Elise, nor Lisa, and especially not Simone.
And then Matty invites Elora away.
“Oh my god!” screams on of the girls in an horrific realisation. “He’s taken her to the seecy gee!”
The Secret G. Not sure that I have been taken there in…never you mind…..
Oops. Elora went to the SECRET GARDEN. And the others didn’t. Nah, nah, nah.
Eventually it’s the Rose Ceremony. No beating about the rose bush…
I feel there is a message to all the girls out there:
You might rub your balloons all over him
Stick your paper heart upon it,
But even when it’s pointing out
It’s not necessarily pointing at you