It’s the most used line on “The Bachelor” and “Bachelorette”: “The most shocking rose ceremony ever!”
Stay tuned for after the commercial break. Er, make that break-up.
Let’s face it, it’s not pretty seeing those nervous faces as the hopefuls wait anxiously to hear his or her name called out…or not. Every season I tell myself, “No, don’t go there.” It’s always the same and it’s seldom for keeps. Let’s get real: the odds aren’t in their favor. Even those who make it past the final rose ceremony are more likely to be kidnapped by terrorists than make it all the way to the altar.
Imagine my genuine shock when I learned the host Chris Harrison is dating one of the booted bachelorettes from the Sean Lowe season. Yowzer! Now that’s a shocking rose ceremony and one I’d tune in to watch.
That brings me to my point: The best “rose ceremonies” are the ones that happen in real life as opposed to the fake-real life of reality TV. Couples who didn’t necessarily meet when one stepped out of a limo wearing an evening gown or an Armani suit. And no, they don’t all come with hair extensions, cellulite-free thighs and six-pack abs.
I met my husband Sandy Kenyon over the phone. I’d just separated from my husband and Sandy sounded nice when he interviewed me on his radio talk show. I was in New York City, he was in Prescott, AZ. We kept talking. After six weeks of 2 and 3 hour nightly phone chats, we arranged to meet. I flew out to see him because he had no one to sub for him. I remember being really nervous on the way there. Would we feel the same attraction when we were together as over the phone?” Was he as cute in person as in his video montage he sent me from his CNN days when he was Hollywood reporter? (Thus prompting the message I left on his answering machine: “I want to run barefoot through your hair.”)
Where oh where is Chris Harrison when you need him?
I walked into the hotel downtown where Sandy and I had arranged to meet. There was a flute of champagne waiting for me on the bar. The sun was setting, casting its golden rays over the golden-haired man standing next to the champagne. He smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Sandy.”
He had me at hello.
I quaffed the champagne in one gulp, I was so dry-mouthed with nerves, then got tipsy. We kissed. We cuddled. And the rest is history.
That was 18 years ago next month. We’ve been married for 17 of those years. We’re still in love. I still get giddy at the sound of his voice over the phone when I go away to the country for my month-long writing sojourns. He still makes me laugh. And he gives awesome foot rubs.
No rose ceremony required, though he does bring me flowers..
