Married at First Sight is back, and I feel like my cat after he's munched on his spider plant.
I'm happy.
This is my guilty pleasure show, and being a hopeless romantic, you wish them the best, but you know that the mercilessly curated show will not offer you that. Okay, one boring couple might get there in the end. The rest are going to be a terminal shit show.
Which is why you watch it.
Tonight's episode brought us the new crew. There was the older bloke, older being 62. There was the Byron Bay Hipster. There was man bun. Never date a man with hair that's longer than yours. It's a good rule to live by. You'll never get to see the inside of a bathroom.
There's also the older woman, who at first glance seems pretty chill, the obligatory gay couple, oh, and another man bun.
And tonight's couples. One, the one with the lass who lost her partner to an accident, matched with a once overweight mummies boy - they might have a chance if Mum doesn't get in the way. Her family seems lovely.
The other couple, she's Colombian, he's a world traveler who broke up with his long-term partner six months ago, have absolutely no chance. Two hot-heads with egos to match.
Oh, and the kicker, and the biggest lesson learned. Never let anybody with a mullet give your best-man speech. If they are sporting that awful haircut they have no taste, and because of this, your speeches are going to be awful.
Serves them right I say.
Personally, I reckon they should rename Married at First Sight something like Bogans Behaving Badly.
It is my one television guilty pleasure. And it's not Love Island or My Kitchen Rules (Masterchef doesn't count as the people are nice and supportive and treat each other with respect.)
It's sport. Let the games begin.
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