Previously on The Bachelor… We had rang in the new year together at Mindy’s party, got sufficiently drunk, took an uber to my house and got into an altercation. He had decided he didn’t want to spend the night and thought driving while drunk was a better option. Apparently I didn’t say the right words (or something) and he ended up leaving. This week, on a very special finale episode, we pick up where we left off.
As you can imagine, I was a lovely combination of angry, confused, and worried. Here I was, pretty well lit, arguing with a guy I had been dating for a couple months, who was also pretty well lit, about whether or not he should be leaving my apartment at 2am in order to drive home.
I gave up the fight when I realized there was no convincing him to stay. His mind was made up. I went with “Fine. Go. Drive a car. Get arrested. Get in a car accident. Do whatever you want. My opinion doesn’t matter.” And he left.
After a few minutes of fuming, the alcohol took over and I passed out.
I awoke at 9am, groggy and a little hung over. I grabbed my phone to see if The Bachelor had texted me an apology or anything. There were no messages. My stomach hit the floor. What if he did get in an accident? Or what if he did get arrested? And the last thing I said to him was that? So I texted:
At some point, when you’re awake, can you let me know that you did, in fact, make it home alive?
I then fell back to sleep.
I woke up again at 11:30 and checked my phone: Nothing.
I’m not usually a worrier, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to put more than a text message out there, so I called him.
It went directly to voice mail. So I left a message (which I rarely do) saying I hadn’t heard from him since he left and I wanted to make sure he was okay and to please call me because I am mildly concerned.
I sent another text message at 1:30:
And at this point I’m slowly becoming less able to push away my concern for your well being…
I went about my day of making brunch, watching TV and then going for a bike ride to the beach with my friend Shelby*.
I was about to walk out the door with my bike loaded with some booze and such when I received “I’m alive! How are you?”
I told him I was headed out. And that I was fine.
So, no, he did not die. This is good news.
I spent the entire day hanging out with my friends, eating, drinking and relaxing happily by the beach. The next morning, another friend of mine, Jessica, and I drove down to the Florida Keys for a little 2 day get away. After we had driven down, stopped to go on a snorkeling trip, drank, checked into our Beach Villa and showered, I decided to give him a call before going to dinner. You know, to figure out what was going on. I figured the break in contact would help both of us mellow and better be able to discuss whatever happened a day and a half before when he left my apartment.
I called. He didn’t answer, but he called me back a few minutes later.
The Bachelor: Hey
The Bachelor: What’s going on?
Me: So, you want to tell me what the hell happened on New Year’s Eve?
The Bachelor: What do you mean?
Me: Why did you leave?
The Bachelor: I went to a friends house party.
Me: So you chose to leave my place at 2am, drunk, because you wanted to be at your friends party more than you wanted to stay with me?
The Bachelor: Yeah. I mean, you don’t like to cuddle or anything…so?
Me: That doesn’t mean I didn’t want you there. I am pretty sure I said that. Didn’t I?
The Bachelor: You did. I just think that maybe you and I are different in some ways.
Me: Well, that’s becoming painfully obvious.
The Bachelor: oh…
Me: You know what? I’ll just talk to you when I talk to you. Bye.
A day later I returned home from my little trip to the Keys with a tan, a smile, and a lot of pictures.
Not that I would have ever considered myself “off the market” but I was certainly back on it now.
And that, my dear faithful readership, is how the story of The Bachelor ends.
It has been a couple of months and he hasn’t tried to contact me once. We haven’t run into each other anywhere.
I’m not sure if it was the all the little things that happened along the short road of our story, but New Year’s Eve was certainly the final straw. And it was pretty clear that ending things (which is what I am calling it when I hung up the phone) was the right move because I didn’t feel one second of sadness over it. I actually didn’t feel any different at all. If that’s not a sign that it was wrong for me, I don’t know what is…
I’m sorry to say there won’t be a next installment of The Bachelor. But worry not, friends. I fully intend to date at least 1 person (maybe 2?) for the sole purpose of having stories to blog about.
*Shelby may or may not be my friends name.