Reality is not Reality by Carrie Winters

I have lived with boys my entire life. I have woken up to SportsCenter, come home and discreetly turned down the volume of whatever game was going on, and tried to zone out the zombie apocalypse on Sunday nights. But now that I have a female roommate, a whole new devil moved into our home; The Bachelor. My roommate, like many women, would float home on Monday nights to the anticipation and seduction of, dare I say it, Juan Pablo. Despite being dead set against shows exactly like this one, I found myself casually tuning in periodically until Juan’s exotic Venezuelan accent and rock hard chest sucked me in entirely.