It’s totally possible that if you’re on reality TV long enough, your brain chemistry actually changes. Your understanding of reality (there is no spoon) is such that a pair of shoes is by default a pair of lucite stripper heels, and a haircut is getting your weave reglued. Then, when normal people from the other reality enter the mansion where you live for three months of the year before being put back in cold storage until the next season, it causes a synaptic melt down, and the idea that someone feels that perhaps a television show is not the place to find love, and that perhaps the lead of the show is not such a desirable catch that dozens of women should debase themselves to receive his attentions, you’re like whuuuuuuuuut? That’s nuts!
Yeah, lady, what’s going on in here? You’re going to tell me that your daughter is too good for a man-baby who shows up to meet people’s parents wearing his hair in a style that can only be described as Poor Kid On Halloween Who Can’t Afford A Costume, has seven kids by various women, and promises you in his most sincere and heartfelt manner that he has no intentions of pursuing a serious relationship.
A parent concerned over the well-being and decision making abilities of their child? What’s next, an aspiring actress who doesn’t think that reality television will provide her with the type of attention upon which you can build a successful career, but in fact will act as a detriment to the achievement of her hopes and dreams?