I Don’t Have A Best Friend.
I have something better.
I don’t have a best friend. But don’t weep for me, Argentina. All my friends are my best friends.
Let me meander for a minute, and I’ll explain.
This notion came to me last night because I was forced into bingeing a social experiment masked as a TV show, or maybe it was a TV show pretending to be a social experiment. Take your pick.
Married at First Sight is doing something right, but it isn’t cracking the mating code.
It’s managed to stay on the air for twenty-four seasons, yet, it has the worst record for marital longevity in the lucrative business of relationship demolition derbies.
I’ve watched a few seasons, and now I cure my boredom with the show by fast-forwarding to the wedding ceremony because a) I like to see the wedding dresses, and b) I’m a sucker for the looks on the faces of the betrothed when they see their intended for the first time at the altar.
They either express horror, as in, “Holy s&*t, what have I just done with my life?” or stupefied joy, with a “Wow, I just won the lottery” grin they can’t wipe off their face.
And sadly, the two expressions don’t always go with the same couple. And this is what makes for must-see-TV because the two risk-takers are…
