Andrew gives his token whackjob the boot
RUBEN? BOTTOM TWO? WHAT THE...? Oops, sorry, got off track there. Luckily “The Bachelor” showed us that the whole world hasn’t gone completely nuts as Andrew stopped using his zipper monkey for a brain just long enough to give Cristina Whatever the boot. This doesn’t make me feel any better about Josh stinking up “American Idol” next Tuesday, but I’ll take small mercies where I can get them.
I can’t decide whether to feel sorry for Cristina’s willful ignorance of Andy’s steadily mounting fear of her, or impressed by her gutsy decision to win him over by brute force. I’m wondering if ABC might cut together a clip reel of Cristina’s many missteps for a PSA. Young women everywhere need to be educated to the dangers of trying to snare a husband with soggy codfish pastry and creepy marital innuendo. Seriously, whispering “That’s what my wedding cake will look like BECAUSE YOU’RE MY PRINCE” in a guy’s ear is tantamount to using “My herpes is in remission!” as a pick-up line.
It was almost a disappointment to discover Cristina’s family in New Jersey were pleasant suburban folk instead of the leather-skinned, screaming, sex-crazed circus freaks I was expecting. You’d think Miss Whatever would have a dad who’d grab Andy in a headlock and squeeze him until his pink little ears popped to force a shotgun wedding, but apparently the aggro gene skips a generation. We can only hope the bad cooking gene does too, because I swear I saw Andy spitting a mouthful of dinner into his napkin using the fake face-wipe move we’ve all resorted to for sneaking our lima beans to the dog.
Still, seeing all four women with their apparently normal families was quite a revelation, especially when we know Andy was checking out the moms to see what he could be sharing a bed with 30 years from now. Though Tina Fab’s tendency towards helmet head at each rose ceremony is making her look more and more like a stuffed toy lion, it was remarkable to see the girl thaw out like a warm cherry Popsicle on her home turf. Sure, she gave Andy a pinched-lip can’t-get-cooties kiss (of course, if a guy drove me around in circles on an ATV until I suffered irreversible brain damage, I’d forgo tongue action, too), but it was clearly enough to keep him coming back for more. We can only hope he’ll one day be able to do something about the poor girl’s taste in art, which tunnels right past primitivism to the stuff your emotionally disturbed kindergarten classmate painted while simultaneously clawing at his face with safety scissors. That he was able to accept the thing and not run screaming from it was a testament to his good rearing or dangerous nearsightedness.
As for Kirsten’s Tampa beach party (as a Floridian, I can tell you her decision to don a bikini in the dead of winter proved she’s either really serious about our Andy or she’s made of Teflon), it’s becoming clear that she’s the smokin’ chick Andy always wanted to date when he was a high school goober but never found the nerve to talk to, kind of like Ben Affleck and J. Lo. Whenever Kirsten starts talking to him, he gapes at her like an anaesthetized gorilla, clearly not hearing anything but the sound of his hormones chanting “hot hot hot hot hot.” And honestly, Andy’s hormones might be more interesting. The fact that Andy still calls the poor thing Kristen half the time suggests that he’s more fixated on exploring her tonsils with his tongue than making her his inflatable tire goddess.
That job may very well go to Jen, but only if she can wipe that forlorn look off her mug. At the rose ceremony she looked like one of the kids at the orphanage in “Oliver,” only with limp hair and worse posture. If Kirsten is the ungettable hottie, then Jen (who bears a startling resemblance to Marcia Brady) is the wholesome girl-next-door, someone who won’t leave the kids locked in a hot car while she gets it on with her tennis coach but is still fetching enough to take your breath away in a long, white gown with flowers in her hair. While I adore Tina Fab’s limitless spunk, my gut says that if Andy is the straight-up guy he claims to be (and the jury’s still out on that one), Jen’s the one who’ll get the final rose.
Who do you think deserves to become Mrs. Firestone?