Des #8: You Can Never Go Home Again

I try to imagine how I would feel, the parent of a Bachelorette contestant, on the day of the dread hometown visit, cleaning my house, getting ready for a TV crew to appear and record how I handle being introduced to a stranger I understand my son will tell me he's madly in love with. I try to consider the way I've already written off said son, so cute that little girls in fifth grade started calling the house and turning his head before middle school, the drawers full of hair product, all that walking around the house shirtless, the better to check himself out in any mirror or window he happened to pass. I spawned a tool, I would sadly tell myself as I basted a chicken everyone would converse over but no one would eat. And then Do these pants make me look fat on TV?

My favorite hometown visit was to the family of last season's "winner," Catherine. Their nonchalance delighted me. You're bringing home a boy? Oh. Whatever. Our daughter goes through boys like potato chips. You want our blessing? I guess, if that means something to you. Hand me a towel.

These brilliant people understood the seriousness of The Bachelor. They understood their daughter had gone on a lark, was still on it, and if things were really serious, they'd prove themselves in time just fine. No worries. Sean and Catherine, however, were mortally offended that they weren't taken seriously enough. Well, nobody made that mistake this time. These well rehearsed families had picked up the importance of a hearty welcome.

To be fair, Des is made for these kinds of settings. She's a master of light conversation, a properly timed tender pout, and ready laughter. She will always make a good first impression. Perhaps she elevated those skills in a desperate attempt to cover for her unfiltered brother:

Oh wait! My mistake. THIS guy:

Yes, that's it. Surely you understand the confusion. The Bluths were always trying to cover up for Buster, too. Though I must say Buster is doing a better job of being neither seen nor heard. (I apologize for the cross-show reference. Impossible to resist.)

ANYWAY, the visits themselves were way less entertaining than I wanted, but for Zak's. Thank you, Zak, for being my reliably sparkling little elf of delight. If Zak's on camera, I'm gonna be smiling for one reason or another. His doom was expected before the show started, and inevitable when he pulled up in the sno-cone truck.

Oops! I did it again. Here you go:

Again, surely you must see the reason for the confusion. It's a utility vehicle forced into family service, embarrassing a man wanting to be taken seriously as a romantic prospect. But wait! Zak isn't embarrassed in the slightest. And there's your problem. Zak was doomed early on as the super-fun guy you like to be around but don't necessarily love. And he never got it. I'd say there's a decent chance that if he'd shown up in an Audi things might've turned out differently. But no, he chose to do his wooing this way:

Women appreciate a man who opens the door for them. But when the hand holding that door is clad in fuzzy penguin-paw mittens and the other hand is holding a penguin head...maybe not quite what she pictured in her Sir Galahad.

Plus, his family holds their forks weird:

Sort of a bird claw grip. Maybe that comes from too much wearing of penguin paws.

All that said, I love this family. They love each other in a way that gives them their own sugar-fueled rhythm and language, and are just so gleefully uninhibited together. Zak is a lucky guy. I hope he remembers that.

From there, everybody else kinda bored me. I think Drew gets younger every time I see him. And stiffer. The collision between goofy reality TV and a genuinely complex family situation was difficult, and I have to credit them with comporting themselves with extraordinary grace.

Chris, at least, gave me this:

No, we're not looking at a medical emergency. This is a heart-to-heart, father-and-son conversation had over mucus, which is apparently common for them. This is how they bond. Fishing? Nope. Baseball? Nope. Nasal adjustments, hanging out in the basement, just a couple of dudes, opening their hearts and sinus cavities to each other. This perhaps explains something, though: The perpetrator of unsolicited poetry comes from the perpetrator of unsolicited spinal adjustments. I mean, seriously, who says, to a first-time visitor in his home "You want me to give you a medical procedure?" Well, Chris's dad, for one. Thank goodness he's only a chiropractor is all I have to say. It could've been worse. And less televisable.

Brooks...uh...nothing. I'm getting his appeal more now, but nothing happened for the benefit of my entertainment. All effort now seems to be directed to setting us up for Des's heartbreak over him. Lengthy interviews with Chris Harrison in which she clearly says he's the one. Lots of excerpts of him talking about his doubts. And, most tellingly, the Men Tell All episode scheduled for this next week, while there are still THREE men in the running. Thus...we must not get down to two, but will see the whole thing blow up at the three-point. Which works out better for my schedule, anyway.

So it's not too soon to start planning next season, right? Come on, who wants to join me in the #ZakforBachelor campaign? As with all of my next-season wishes, it's hopeless, I know. But wouldn't it be fun? The playground-pick rose-ceremony model of breaking up is the worst imaginable way to be told your beloved doesn't love you, but it gave producers some priceless setup footage for Zak's opening montage. Complaints of never having been in love like this before, check. The probability-challenged clueless-narcissist quote, check. ("Something told me that doing this, I had a good chance of getting out of that slump I've been in so long. I really thought this would work out for me.") And the tragic visual? Please. Can't beat the extremely photo-oppy flinging of the ring out the window. I had Zak picked for high entertainment value at the beginning of the season, and he certainly delivered. Bon voyage, my good man. Hope to see you again.