An Open Letter to Rosie Waterland

Dear Rosie,

I’ve wanted to write you a letter for some time, however, I don’t know where you buy pen and paper from anymore. So then I thought I’d make use of the world wide interwebs and send you a smart email. But again I was thwarted when I was told that the only acceptable way of communication these days is via open letters. I figured if it was good enough for Beyoncé, it was good enough for me.

My name is Lauren and I am a Melbourne woman with a slight obsession with ‘The Bachelor’. And by ‘slight’ I mean major.

I am also a major fan of yours. I sometimes creep on your twitter account when I need a laugh and believe the term “Oh my Glob” should be documented in urbandictionary.com. (It may already be there… I don’t check websites often. I can’t internet well.)

Anyway, here’s the thing. Two years ago, fuelled by a night of incessant bitching and Savvy B, I began writing about ‘The Bachelor’. Blame Tim Robards and his greasy man-curls. I would watch episodes and then commentate them on my blog. My friends started to read them and told me they were pretty good. So I kept doing it. It was cathartic and a perfectly acceptable reason to cancel social plans to go home and watch reality TV.

It didn’t take long, however, for me to be alerted to the fact that you were also writing about Bachie’s journey and Osher’s glorious weave. I would often be tagged in your posts by lovely, albeit unknowing, readers/friends who thought your work was mine. Incorrect, but a compliment nonetheless.

Because you are better than me. You’re a real writer, for a start. People pay you to write words. I, on the other hand, am a lowly educator/actor with a measly 197 twitter followers. I’m not a big deal. But I do want to keep writing about Bachie 2015 and beyond (I mean, Sam as Bachelorette? SQUEEEE!). It’s become a bit of an outlet for me and something I have channeled into a one-woman musical show (yes, you read that correctly).

So what’s the point of this whole open letter?

To whine about how you are taking all the Bachie goodness away from me? Absolutely not.

To get you to notice me so that we can be best friends? Maybe.

To assure you that I have not, nor do not wish to copy you or use your work for my own gain? Yes.

*Please note: I still read your recaps after I write my own and often suffer from a serious case of WDITOT (Why Didn’t I Think of That?)

** Actually, I’d better come clean and admit I too used the term “Curly-Haired Girl #1 and #2” because THERE WAS NO OTHER LOGICAL NAME FOR THEM!

I guess the real reason I want you to read this letter is to consider it an application. An application to be your understudy. The Robin/NightWing to your Batman. The Louise to your Sam. The loyal pleb who could maybe be there for you should you ever find yourself indisposed with Dirty Street Pie poisoning or stuck in Africa with no reception and no Bunda rings.

I am so ready.

Until then, I will be sitting by my phone eagerly awaiting your call. And even if you turn me down, maybe one day we could get together and forehead touch?

Too much?

Much love, many journeys.

Lauren