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The Bachelor FAQ for Season 24, Episode 8: These women have no idea

Peter on The Bachelor hometown dates episode
Peter on The Bachelor, which failed to make it clear that being married to an airline pilot is not all it’s cracked up to be. Pic credit: ABC

Monsters & Critics’ new columnist Mary Beth Ellis brings you up to date on this season of The Bachelor, with a quick FAQ recap summing up last week’s episode, what’s coming up this week, and why we even allowed her to do this in the first place…

What makes you qualified to write about The Bachelor?

This is offensive. This is my wheelhouse. For I, too, once owned many evening gowns, I speak loudly when I drink, and I enjoy simultaneously chasing after a man with a football team’s worth of other women, including subs– you know what, this is falling apart.

What makes you qualified to write about this particular Bachelor?

This Bachelor is an airline pilot named Peter. I am married to an airline pilot named Josh, which renders me an aviation industry expert. I know that if he tells me he’s going CLT to PNS that this is all a perfectly normal, non-pornography oriented trip from Charlotte to Pensacola. So I am here to learn these women something.

Some commentators are throwing Misogyny Flags on Peter because he delivered unto the women a “lecture” about “making sure they are ready for this” or some such cockpittery. But you know what? He’s not talking about “making sure you know you want a relationship, little girl.” He’s talking about the toilet paper.

When people find out I’m married to an airline pilot, they think it’s all very glamorous and exciting and that I skip about the world for free on a regular basis. It’s true that, as the wife of a regional airline captain, if there’s room for me on a flight I’d like to take on my husband’s parent airline, I don’t have to pay to climb aboard. Sometimes, yes, this means flying first-class from Miami to DC at zero cost. And sometimes it means watching an airplane pull away from a gate in Dallas, knowing I’m doomed to breakfast in Texas while the conference in Tucson gets underway without me.

But mostly it means cramming myself into a middle seat from Cincinnati to Philadelphia because I have not seen my husband in six days and joining him for a night in the Holiday Inn is the only way we can have a face-to-face conversation about how the lawnmower is making terrifying noises. And it means receiving a text from him twenty minutes before leaving for the airport, asking if there’s room in the carry-on for a roll of toilet paper because “what’s in the bathroom at the hotel is ridiculous and my ass does not deserve this.”

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