I have finally realised why so many relationships go wrong. There is too much ‘just do it’ and not enough pensive strolling along the beach and gazing out onto a flat ocean.
Georgia Love did it. Matty J did it. They found true love. Now Sophie’s done it, because clearly it works. She’s got three men left, and she’s hoping it will work for her.
The first of her final single dates it with Jarrod. He is looking particularly flushed today, so Sophie has considerately turned up in a red Ferrari to make his skin tone look more regular.
He notices that she has lost her voice and she claims that it is because of all the travel and not because she has spent the last six weeks pashing one bloke after the other.
Without even checking to see if Jarrod’s little orange wine-mobile licence even allows him to control the thrust of an Italian stallion, Sophie allows Jarrod to take the wheel. Apparently it’s not, and after a few stern words from the New South Wales constabulary (off-camera), they are forced to pull over and continue their date at a go-kart track. Here they broker an awkward wager. If he wins, she will be his slave for a day, and if she wins, he will run around the track in his underwear. Jarrod blushes, or at least I think he does, and he confesses that he hasn’t followed every mother’s advice about wearing clean underwear when you go out lest you get hit by a bus, or hit on by the season three Bachelorette.
His worst thoughts come true when Sophie wins, but she is suddenly horrified by the intrusion of the repressed memory of the very first cocktail party when Sam exposed his saggy white thermals and ran around the pool deck. She’s not ready for any saggy white thing that Jarrod may have secreted in his trousers, so she hastily offers to swap wagers and Jarrod gets to be her slave for the day. This means he gets to piggy-back her to the changing sheds so that he can change into his gimp costume.
Unfortunately, the gimp outfit was stolen while they were go-kart racing, so Jared is forced into sensible slacks and jacket, but no tie, because anything that might further concentrate blood flow to his head might make it blow right off. They sit on the day lounge and he drops grapes into her mouth and makes patronising remarks about her go-kart driving skills.
Then he asks her about how she felt about her family and she says that she loved them because she is shit-scared of his mum and too afraid of that grave-sized space in the wine cellar.
And then Jarrod addresses the giraffe in the room:
“How did you feel when I told you that I loved you?”
Sophie breaks into tears and he’s all wow-she-loves-me-too-and-we-will-get-married-and-have-a-million-kids and he fails to notice that she uses the word “nice” four times.
It’s hardly “Rip open my bodice and ravage me on the pillows” stuff, but she asks him to kiss her and he does, even though the last bloke she kissed was Blake, who Jarrod claimed was the pot-plant pisser, and who may have left Sophie with a case of strep throat as his final “Ciao!”
Next, she’s back in Sydney to meet up with Stu, who she picks up in a stretch limo. She’s organised a very special and unique date for Stu, so I imagine that she is taking him to a urologist to get that nasty little snip issue attended to.
But unless the doctor has set up offices in the Sea Life Aquarium at Darling Harbour (which would definitely be unique), I am wrong. And I am. They’re going to do something unique and special with a dugong.
Now here’s a fun fact. Dugongs eat over 1000 kilograms of lettuce a week, and they are fat f*ckers. Lesson learned. I am culling lettuce from my diet immediately.
And here’s another thing about dugongs. They look all smiling and carefree when they are swimming underwater, but when they’re mad hungry because they haven’t had any lettuce in, like, three minutes, and they’re trying to climb out of their tank with their stunted little flippers and their stunted little tongues trying to grip the side, they look like some sort of marine zombie that needs to be clubbed over the head.
This Bachelorette blog is not sponsored by the World Wildlife Fund.
Night-time comes and Sophie asks Stu a vital question in the dating process: just when will your wife not be your wife anymore?
“Very soon…hopefully…” says Stu, like when he can figure out how many millions he will be left with after the settlement.
“So how do you feel about me?” continues Sophie.
“I think we have a really firm friendship and I have friends who are in relationships who are really strong friends.”
And this all sounds like Stu is trying to let Sophie know that even he thinks he is a dud root.
But he makes her laugh and she kisses him and the date is over and that only leaves Apollo.
Her first mistake is to take him to Norway or somewhere where he is forced to dress like a Nordic lumberjack.
After all of that pensive pondering near the ocean, didn’t Sophie once think of taking him on a date to the beach, or for a massage, or for a steam bath…
Sorry, I just had to wipe drool off my keyboard.
Anyway, the horse-drawn carriage pulls up at some pseudo-castle and she presents him with a ribbon wrapped box and we just know it must be a sparkly purple G-string…excepts it’s a tuxedo.
The G-string for mature, tasteful, intelligent women.
He needs the tuxedo for the date which is about the most awesome thing ever. Opera Australia has loaned out one of its tenors (or baritones or alpha saxes or whatever) and a classical trio to perform Nessum Dorma (of course) in an amphitheatre balanced on a precipice with the Blue Mountains as the back drop. My bucket list has just grown by one.
Sophie is moved to tears, and Apollo too is super impressed and he claps those massive hands and smiles and says “That’s AWESOME!” like he’s only twenty-four and he’s never been to the opera before…
But worse, he hasn’t even noticed that Sophie has been moved to tears and now she’s worried about the emotional connection, and I’m worried that Apollo is about to fall victim to the curse of the puppy date.
Sophie hopes that things will improve on the night-time date.
“You’re very well-balanced,” observes Sophie, as Apollo balances an entire cheese-platter on his lap.
“What are your five-year goals?” she probes.
“Well, I’ve got this thing planned where I escape from a straight-jacket while suspended from a helicopter.”
Sophie has nothing to say to that, and neither does Apollo and Sophie is in radio and she knows how fatal dead air is and there is no magic trick in the world that can pull that back.
The only thing that can save Apollo now is that Jarrod is border-line John Hinckley Jr.
Osher arrives for the final rose ceremony. His face and tone are very solemn.
“Gentlemen, there are only two roses remaining.”
I don’t know exactly how much Osher gets paid, but I’m thinking he probably just earned about $1500 per word.
Anyway. Let’s just cut to the chase.
There is an enormous THUD, which is the collective tongues of Australia falling out of mouths and hitting their lounge room floors.
Sophie had promised, in miscellaneous media , that there would be a surprise this season, but no-one thought that Apollo would be going home before Jarrod. Apollo is officially worse than Blake; not only has he been beaten by the old, married, desexed guy, but also the red bloke with a pot plant fetish.
I’m crying, my husband is crying, my dogs couldn’t give a shit (even though, ironically, one of them is named Apollo).
And Apollo the magician is crying. It is the most heart-felt elimination ever.
But, every cloud has a silver lining.
Australia…meet your next Bachelor.