Welcome, doodle owners.
I’m just dropping by – on behalf of all Australian women – to let you know the jig is up. We know your secret. We know.
for centuries since 2013 when Tim Robards first graced our screens as the Bachelor, you’ve tried to deceive us.
“We hate this trash TV!” you exclaim at the very sight of Osher Gunsberg’s tux. “Can we watch Sam Newman shave his head on The Footy Show instead?”
You fools have tried to tell us that the best show on Aussie television is “horrible” year after year.
Yet every time Blake Garvey spoke in monotone, or Sam Wood grinned like a cheshire cat, or Richie Strahan did an awkward laugh, you were curiously in the room with us.
You tell us you despise it – that you’d rather get a groin rash than sit through a rose ceremony – and yet you’re always… just… there.
At the pivotal moments, you’re quietly sitting behind us, taking in every candle and rose petal, while pretending to do anything but watch.