Though the cast may look different, I’m happy to report that the mansion’s interior design is still the same familiar blend of a Pier 1 Y2K collection x Cheesecake Factory chic. Even faced with minimal closet space and bunk beds, and at four gals to a room, the Golden Bachelorettes are taking their living situation refreshingly in stride. Sandra, who’s had both her knees replaced and is in no mood for bouldering, requests a bottom bunk, with the added benefit of putting her “three steps closer to the bathroom.” They are so far, to a woman, gracious roommates, with no stirrings yet of any Ramona Singer–esque military coups in pursuit of the best accommodations.
The first date goes to Theresa, whom Gerry gave a birthday kiss (and a sensual cupcake frosting lick that, knowing my brain’s unique capacity to retain upsetting information, will probably be the only thing left in my mental hard drive on my deathbed, long after I’ve forgotten my half-android grandchildren’s names) on night one. Her floral print dress and the Gatch’s blazer both match the vintage powder-blue convertible he whisks her away in.
But a Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee spinoff this is not. Gerry’s headlights are on the fritz, sending him and Theresa hurtling down the freeway in semi-darkness, unable to make out relevant signs or markings. Theresa’s hair whips all over the place; a massive truck blasts its horn right next to them. But before I can break out my beta-blockers, Theresa lays a supportive hand on the Gatch’s shoulder, and he melts. That small gesture “meant a ton.” Is production deliberately tampering* with cars in the name of romance? I salute the craft, even if the California Highway Patrol might disagree. (*Allegedly!!!!!! — or however many exclamation points are required to ensure I’m legally in the clear with this joke; thank you in advance.)
Anyway, he manages not to kill either of them, or another motorist, or any pedestrians, or any local wildlife — at least not as depicted in the advance press screener of this episode — on their way to a neon-lit retro diner (shades of Pop’s Chock’Lit Shoppe, minus the alternate-timeline polyamorous inter-dimensional angels, or whatever went down, exactly, in the last days of Riverdale), where they share fries and a chocolate shake.
Theresa shares that she wed her own high school sweetheart at just 18 — they were married for 42 years until he passed. They mutually express their condolences and acknowledge there’s a strong connection between them. Theresa sweetly suggests they learn Italian together and then take a trip to Italy; Gatch is down.
“Don’t Stop Believin’” comes on the jukebox (this is absolutely New Jersey representation, and Theresa and I both thank you for it), and so begins possibly the worst flash mob I’ve ever seen, featuring diner staff and patrons alike. Stumbling, semi-rhythmic clapping — I love it all, and it’s honestly a pleasure just to have something utterly unsentimental to write about for a second.
Theresa, unsurprisingly, gets the rose. They make a cute couple, but I worry Gerry may be coming in a little hot here — an anxiety probably resulting directly from the shots of Theresa sobbing we’ve seen in the preview clips (… unless that’s exactly what they want us to think!). I believe the Gatch fully means it when he tells her how much he likes her and how loveable she is, but as he explores his (many!) other budding relationships, I think he may later regret not having kept his cards a little closer to the chest if only to protect her feelings should his heart lead him in a different direction. (Lest we forget that, in its best-known usage, “Don’t Stop Believin’” ends abruptly with an ominous cut to black.)
For the group date, go-to franchise photographer Franco, he of romper fame, appears in a white suit covered in what I can best describe as Rorschach inkblots that resulted from a printer’s CMYK cartridge exploding. It’s time for a romance novel cover shoot, for which the women must scramble to choose among various costumes, including hippies and … sort of an Oktoberfest dirndl situation? Far be it from me to question Franco’s vision. The Gatch dons an obligatory Puffy Shirt(™) and Fabio wig, all the more glorious when blasted with a leaf blower.
Nancy’s costume makes her cry: It’s a wedding dress. She’s unexpectedly rocked by wearing one, finding that all the emotions from the day she married her late husband have come flooding back. There’s a lot of happiness and gratitude within that surge of feelings, but it’s nevertheless “overwhelming.” Gerry can relate — he recounts a time he walked past a bakery, and the smell of cinnamon put him painfully in mind of his wife’s baking. To commemorate that nice moment of understanding between the two of them, Nancy gets the group-date rose. I have yet to gather any experimental data on this, but perhaps sobbing in a wedding dress is generally an effective tactic for getting what one wants in life.
Nevertheless, it’s Leslie, “Sexy Dancer” herself, whom Gerry clearly enjoys the most chemistry with on this date. She shows him that she too wears hearing aids, a revelation he finds “really kind of darling.” He whispers something secret that Leslie insists on keeping to herself — however lascivious it may have been, I suspect there was an “aw, shucks” in there somewhere.
On Gerry’s birthday, the women hide in the backyard and surprise him with party hats, balloons, a pinata, and — in April’s case — a sexy (non-chicken, thankfully) dance.
I fear that Faith may have initiated Reality Dating Show Contestant Self-Sabotage Protocol #37. You know the one. Despite claiming the first impression rose, she’s worried Gerry may have forgotten about her in the approximately five minutes that have transpired since then, and so her insecurities are beginning to bubble over. Her competition is all “fancy girls,” and she cannot relate. “I swim in the river, I drink from a hose, I swim in a horse water trough,” she tells Gerry, which is exactly three more water-themed fun facts than I could possibly come up with about myself.
I’m a little concerned about Joan. She seems like a perfectly lovely person (also kind of a Michelle Pfeiffer thing going on there, no? Stunning!), but — only two years out from the death of her husband — she seems like she’s still in it, grief-wise. She tells Gerry about how she still can’t look at photos of her late spouse and how she’s dealing with a lot of guilt. I sincerely hope she’s doing amazing, but I’m not convinced that a nationally televised dating show is the ideal forum in which to do the healing that lies ahead of her.
It’s only the second rose ceremony and Gerry is already unable to make it through the inevitable culling without crying. “You’re all my friends,” he tells the women. Alas, Jeanie and Natascha are going home.
I hope producers will take Natascha’s parting words to heart: “Guys, do the rose ceremony in chairs. You have people in here 60, 70, and above.”
