I love The Bachelorette. I love the corny dudes in three-piece suits, the ball gowns with an exorbitant amount of glitter, the exotic locales that somehow all blend together into one big mush of gothic castles overlooking tropical beaches, and the emotionally manipulative music that implores us to feel things even when we're staring straight into the dead eyes of two people who clearly shouldn't be together. But more than all that, I love the houses! I love that they cram all these hormonal, horny young people into one gorgeous manse and force them to spend 24/7 together until they inevitably claw each other's eyes out. Maybe it's because I grew up firmly middle-class and never had the chance to swim in an infinity pool until my early 20s (I hope you're crying for me), but getting to soak in the pure lavishness of The Bachelorette property porn is, frankly, almost sexual. Plus, I love Kaitlyn Bristowe and would do anything to be closer to her. (Imagine I said that while tilting my head slightly to the left, wide-eyed and grinning. You should be feeling shivers.)
So when HomeAway, company that manages one of the Bachelorette houses, presented me with the opportunity to stay a night in the very same place Kaitlyn decided which beefcake should get the final rose, I jumped at the opportunity. I've always wanted to be part of history and this was my chance. (And please understand that I'm not being dramatic about the history thing; you need to accept into your heart and mind that these shows are already being studied by scholars. Maybe you don't like that but to you I say: USA! USA! USA!)
My objective: To see how a bachelorette lives so that I may one day duplicate her experience in front of a live television audience. Shhh. Don't tell my husband.
I stroll through the impeccably manicured backyard where the family ate dinner with their victims, sizing them up before deciding which one to release and which one to send to slaughter. Or something less dramatic. The solid wood dining table made me visualize burning my garbage Ikea deck set to the ground.
Here I am doing my best Kaitlyn Bristowe in the infinity (that part's key) pool, which is hard when you have no selfie stick nor several camera men and a lightening rig.
Talking to a reality TV producer who wished to remain unnamed, I learn that my home for the evening was perfect for shoots, with its enormous windows for natural light, large hallways for roomy set-ups, and plentiful parking for crew. I learn from the property manager that Heidi Klum recently shot there, and that One Direction has been known to spend the night. That's right, I was peeing in the same bidet-enabled toilet that Harry did. Probably. Most likely.
As I cruise the rest of the house — pausing to take a moment to roll around the same bed Kaitlyn and probably also Harry had slept in — I feel a little tiny bit empty. Sure, I'm basically a bachelorette in paradise — what with the not one but two outdoor showers — but living in the house alone, without tons of friends and family to fill it with, must be quite an isolating experience. When Kaitlyn tucked herself into the enormous, fluffy king-size bed, I wonder if she wished this whole thing could be over so she could get Shawn under the covers for some serious cuddling (you know she wanted him from word go! Sorry, Bachelorette producers! You fooled nobody! But me! For a while!) and not wandering the house's long, lonely hallways all by her lonesome.
Thinking about it so much was giving me a serious case of the sads, and that's not what this house is for. This house is for weddings, bachelorette parties, insane pool parties, and other expressions of love, friendship, and community. At the expense of being a total cheeseball, it's a house that deserves to be lived in. Spending a night in it by your lonesome is fine, but here's hoping Kaitlyn gets to go back with her fiancé and entire crew of friends and family — no TV cameras allowed.
Follow Laura on Twitter.
