The uncomfortable silences and artificial dialogue of ‘The Bachelor’ concluded with the age old question, Ginger or Mary Ann? For me, it was a Ted Ferguson-stunt man commercial since I watched the drama unfold in the bowels of hell: with a group of my wife’s girlfriends.

As with most functional couples, I hate ‘The Bachelor’ and my wife loves it. I promised myself that I would limit the word “hate” in this column to the Dallas Cowboys and Janice Soprano but I think my feelings towards ‘The Bachelor’ merit it.

It’s so forced, unnatural and over-edited that it flat out gives reality television a bad name. Part of my dismay is the selections they’ve made to represent ‘The Bachelor’.

The first guy, Alex, was cheesy and calculated. His dialect seemed too scripted. The second guy, Aaron, was too sheltered for me. He was a nice guy but he was so protected by his family that I didn’t feel like he had any life experience to draw on. Plus, he was quickly diagnosed with “Jennifer Capriati Disease”. He always talked like he had a mouthful of spit. Firestone was also a nice guy but way too privileged, even worse than Aaron. I just couldn’t relate. They managed to turn Bob Guiney into every other Bachelor which was unfortunate. He was a blast as a contestant. Jessie Palmer, well, let’s be honest, he was a New York Giant which is a notch above being a Cowboy and a notch below being Janice Soprano. I just wasn’t feeling him. Jerry O’Connell’s brother was a stretch at best but he was entertaining.

I wish I could tell you they got it right this time around but that’s not the case. Travis is an alright guy…but he has an annoying habit…of talking somewhere around…five words at a time. Frustration sets in early for me as I start bashing pillows while my wife dives to his defense. I realize he’s a doctor with a lot to lose but he’s so deliberate that it draws from the show.

Anyway, my wife’s friends get together every month for something called Selfish Club. It’s essentially a pyramid scheme where they extract money from their husbands and give it to each other. I once thought it impossible to come up with something more ridiculous than Bunko which has less strategy than ‘Deal or No Deal’ but somehow they managed. This month’s “club” happened to fall on the conclusion of the Bachelor.

Twelve gossipy girls, some nauseating reality television and I’d be missing the premiere of the Apprentice. It’s the perfect storm. My friends have no respect for me as it is so I said the heck with it and decided to drive straight through it.

As much as I hate this show, I will admit the season jumped off to a hall of fame start. I received a phone call at the close of the first episode which I wasn’t watching live. When I saw the name “Murph” on my cell, I knew the ending was going to be legendary. He was laughing hysterically, “I’m expecting big things from you tomorrow my friend.” I wasn’t writing then but in retrospect I should have sucked it up, downed some caffeine and banged out a thousand words. I wish I was a senior in high school so that “My eggs are rotting” could be my yearbook quote. “I love you guys, I’ll miss you and my eggs are rotting. Good luck class of ’06!”

Tonight, my little anthropology experiment kicks off with the room’s anxiety over Sarah’s potential dismissal. The choice between Ginger and Mary Ann has not divided the room evenly. I’m on Ginger’s side and I wouldn’t dare express that because the other side looks fit to kill.

When we meet Travis’s father, we find out that he’s Jodie’s father’s ex-boss. On beat she was asked, “Why didn’t you get set up with him?”

When we meet Travis’s mother, we find out she’s an aged version of Betty Rubble. The room was not vibing with the hair and I can’t believe Sarah maintained a straight face. From an unnamed source, “She looks like a Chow!”

Sarah plays the “Tootie-Ta” card with Travis’ nieces. It didn’t seem to resonate as one of Travis’ nieces feels he should employ the “Eenee, Meenie, Minie, Mo” method which, coincidentally, is how they pick the Bachelor. The girls in the room tighten up and I start to wonder if this column is going to fly. Thankfully, I catch a glimpse from my wife across the room and she starts to mouth some words of encouragement unbeknownst to the room. I eagerly receive her inspiring advice, “Don’t…bite…your…nails!” Thanks Hun, now I’m soaring with confidence.

Travis’ speech about his feelings for Sarah seems telling. It was withdrawn and I felt his mother read the writing on the wall that Sarah wasn’t the one. Michael Jackson’s cringing effort with Lisa Marie had more heat than their kiss good-bye and the room seemed annoyed by my professional reality journalist analysis: “Weak kiss.”

Moana forces out some mock emotion and whipped up some crocodile tears. From Christy, “GRRRR, she’s going to pick him and they’re going to be broken up in two months.” The brother-in-law was a Ginger man and he was eating out of her hands.

As the wine flowed freely, the discussion turns to, yup, you guessed it, the “running man”. The host says that if she were on that show, she would be drunk every night doing the running man. This kicked off a heated discussion about what the running man is followed by a demonstration and half a dozen girls doing MC Hammer. It’s moments like this that make me thank God I’m a boy. You will never see dance lessons at poker night. I must be blending into the couch as I think they’ve forgotten I’m here. Whoops, scratch that, more constructive counsel from the annoyed misses: “Stop…biting…your…nails.”

During Moana’s grilling, the girls fall into a pointless discussion which allowed them to miss a grueling, painfully awkward silence, maybe the worst in reality history. It was like an Italian skater stare down. I’m not good at moments like that and I spent most of it behind a pillow. It was so bad the girls took a moment away from arguing about whether or not they want McDreamy or McSteamy on Grey’s Anatomy to rewind it so I was treated to the horror again. For those keeping score at home, my favorite point of the discussion was, “I like the way McDreamy looks at me.” Am I really here?

Jodie’s father’s ex-boss and the Chow give Sarah a rousing endorsement and the Selfish Club is pleased. However, the kiss with Moana had a ton more substance and deep down, I know they’re going to be disappointed. Ginger always wins girls, Ginger always wins.

Sarah’s mom innocently asked, “Have you kissed him yet?” From another unnamed source, “Hey mom, we’ve done a lot more that that. What do you think we did in the fantasy suite? Watched HBO?”

Sarah’s hands tremble during ring selection and a film of stress has covered the room. I can feel a tinge of anger moving in my direction for the inevitable that lies ahead. “Moana’s the freaking spawn of Satan; put that in your column!!!”

Alright, maybe it’s more than a tinge.

I’ve become increasingly more concerned that if this doesn’t go their way, it could be directed at me. At this point, the stress has gotten to me and I decide a third beer is imperative. I’m intercepted en route though and forced into the bathroom to see the “new wallpaper”. Reason number 168 I’m happy I’m not a girl: the total misunderstanding of the importance of new wallpaper.

During one final round of kissing with Sarah, I provide more reality journalist insight that goes unnoticed by the untrained eye, “She’s trying hard to work that tongue in there. Yiye. This is bad. This is hard to watch.” That moment resolved the room to prepare themselves for the expected with little retort offered beyond, “(Expletive!)”

When Moana exits the limo, she has a serious wardrobe malfunction and I plunge off the couch when my nipple radar goes off, “Brown, I saw brown. That's areola! Rewind, rewind!” At days end, it seems we were all victims of editing. The canned speech rang along nicely as the girls fired repeatedly, “But, but, but, come one buddy, just say but.” They got their wish: “But (applause), my heart is telling me I can’t choose you.”

The excitement in the room was palpable as the girls become giddy. I finally reveal to the room that I was totally into the nut job and it had nothing to do with her areola. When Sarah exits the limo, the discussion moves to halter tops and plunging neck lines. It’s gibberish to me.

The final selection didn’t seem genuine. Every time she tried to talk it seemed he would shush her. It’s like he was annoyed with how into him she was. I don’t think he went with his heart. He went with his brain. Sarah made the most sense. She was a sweet girl but there was no passion there. Starting as friends and developing the rest is possible but tricky. I’ve seen it end a lot of friendships. Moana wasn’t the long term answer either but at least those feelings seemed authentic. At day’s end, it was just easier to cut Moana than the latter.

Well, I hope you enjoyed my time as one of the girls. Their club seemed selfless despite their name. Now, I’m going to curl up with a hot bath, a cup of tea, a slice of cheesecake, some clean sheets and this month’s Redbook.