Sorry for the delay! I’ve been in the midst of moving continents, which has put me back a few weeks.
Collated, overdue thoughts:
- Regarding Kaitlyn Bristowe, the Bachelorette who got roasted for sleeping with a date in Ireland before the creepy, voyeuristic “overnight/”Fantasy Suite” (FML) nights:
I must admit, I despise the man she slept with–one of the eventual “front-runners”–because of his skeevy, manipulative ways. But as I watched the episode long after the controversy had started, I decided that critics of the young woman* were stupid. Why? Because she was in Ireland, drinking tumbler-fulls of whiskey. WHISKEY, people! The “cool girl’s” tequila!
I’m hardly a “cool girl”–not athletic enough–but I like to do things classy. Since I grew up without a drop of alcohol in the house, that meant that when I finally imbibed in Argentina, I chose my faves arbitrarily/based on what I had heard was sophisticated: red wine, whiskey, and Irish coffees (which morphed into a love of Bailey’s, which is not as cool, but hey, we all need an adult chocolate milk of some kind, right?).
No, I lied. I didn’t tackle whiskey until 2013. The year I met Jordan**. While it may have started … come to think of it, I truly can’t recall when I began drinking whiskey. But I know that the first time I overdid it, I almost had sex while still a conservative Christian. Without protection. And the word “almost” is the kind of teenage “almost,” aka “we did it in a tub and he came in the water; can I get pregnant?!” Not that we did that; we didn’t. But I recall shots of whiskey, becoming horny, and kinda-sorta-doing it before freaking out.
This was the first extramarital sex I’d ever even halfway done. It led to repentance, confession and distancing myself from the boy (until the next fall, but that’s another tale). The point is that at my most stringent, love-God-purity-ring crazy, I still had sex, and you know why? Because of scotch.
As a result, when I discovered that our far more bold, sassy/funny Bachelorette had sex under the influence of a heavy dose of Jameson, I balked at any chastising. Are we really so 1950’s that we focus on the person doing the sex instead of the trigger?
When she said, “Nick makes me feel like a woman… a desired woman,” the world laughed. Her bloodshot eyes and slightly lollygagging head did the talking. I got it, though. I did the deed with a man who thought the equivalence of chivalry, while under the influence, was tearing off his shirt and wrapping its short sleeves around my shoulders on a chilly March day in Las Vegas (which, TBH, was not very cold at all). Sweet? Sure. But I gotta admit, he looked kinda silly wandering by UNLV with his tummy out and a drunk date.
For all the blah-blah-blah and ways ABC screwed over Kaitlyn (no pun intended), the social commentary could have been toned down to this: tons of whiskey. For days. Poured into mouths like water. And you’re surprised this happened?
Just stating the obvious.
* “Young,” because I just turned thirty, and so did she. We’re still young, right? Does it matter?
** Name changed to protect his awkward awesomeness.
2. On visiting the southeast after living out west and abroad. Ohhh,boyyy, do I have comments.