My email, sent moments ago, to my mother-in-law: I think she’ll pick JP. Ben, the winemaker, seems super nice, but I think she has always been crazy about JP. Though, in the long run, I think she’d be happier with Ben because he seems less dramatic, which would be a good balance for our nutcase Anxious Ashley. BTW, Bachelor Pad looks just as bad as last season. Which, naturally, means I’ll still watch it.
Ashley Chooses
HOURS LATER: “After the Final Yawn” has wrapped things up. Ash is engaged to JP. I’ll admit it, I was talking to the TV, irritated. Because Ben seemed like the guy who could wade through the Ashley Fits. And JP seemed like a cauldron.
As soon as Ben stepped out of the helicopter, revealing to viewers that he was about to be rejected, I asked this completely irrational question: who would Ashley pine for if she couldn’t end up with either? And every time, it would be JP. If she couldn’t be with either man, I think she’d be “Get me to the White Horse Tavern to drown my sorrow” sad and crazy if she learned that JP had fallen in love with someone else. Ben, she’d shrug.
But.
But is all that heart and passion and gut really the way to go? Let’s forget that Ben is a drip–a very nice drip, actually, I’d say he’s my own personal definition of milquetoast.
As Ben waiting on bended knee in what had to seem like forever, I couldn’t help but think of Sense & Sensibility. In Jane Austen’s novel, “the Ashley” (Marianne) ended up with “the Ben” by default, and we were left to believe that “the JP” suffered and regretted not ending up with her, but that she was ultimately much better off with “the Ben,” the safe, practical, long-lasting bet. The problem is the Ashley’s, Marianne’s, and Stephanie’s of the world would always pine for that passion, no matter how right, how arranged and sensible, their current life was. It’s why Marianne’s blog would be all angst-ridden and full of longing. Because life is short, and messy, and agonizingly delicious if you do it right.
On an unrelated note, I’m pretty sure I know JP. Like, I think we hung out a few times in high school. Not hooking up, hanging out, in a group at Hillary Cohen’s house. I need to consult with the Hills on this one.
