Hi Readers! Today marks a special day at The Dose of Reality, as we are welcoming our first guest blogger to the site. My friend Eli, who knows that I am a fan of all things celebrity and especially knows that I am paying close attention to a certain little ABC show called The Bachelorette let me in on a little secret encounter he had with Emily Maynard. When he told me the story, especially about how he was so casual with her and how it clearly left her believing that they must somehow know each other in real life, I was cracking up and told him he had to write the story up and share it with my readers. Please share in the comments whether you think we might see Eli on the next season of The Bachelor and be sure to visit his blog, too! http://coachdaddyblog.wordpress.com/

 

It’s me, Eli. You know, the dude who ruined The Bachelorette.

Emily. Emmy. E.

Honey, look at me, please.

This isn’t going to work, love.

You know that. And I know that.

Em, precious, let’s be real.

You’re all mansion. I’m all mortgage.

You’re prime time. I drive a Pontiac.

You’re a starlet. I’m a soccer coach.

You’re stunningly beautiful.

I’m … a soccer coach.

You’re The Bachelorette.

I’m just the boy with the crooked smile, $3 Wal-mart dress shirt and, apparently, your heart.

Oh, David warned me about this. Don’t be so charming, Eli. Watch what you’re doing, Eli.

Watch who you’re mesmerizing, Eli.

How was I to know that by strutting past your corner cafe table that gorgeous May morning, jokingly saying in passing, to impress my friends, “Hey Emily!” that those two words – and the way you can still her your name in my voice – would send shockwaves through the world of reality TV – and PTO meetings at my kids’ school?

And made me a villain on the order of Charlie Sheen and Metta World Peace and John Edwards?

It all began so innocently.

It was just my second day on the job. I was very much still the new guy, you know? I saw you sitting there on our way into Starbucks on our morning java run. A fan apologized for having bothered you, and you sweetly told her it was OK - even though she probably asked you, “so, who’d you pick??”

I’d never have done that, Emily. But maybe I should have.

See, I’ve been around the block once or twice. I carried Stephen King’s bags once, and he probably wishes he’d asked for my blog URL. I followed James Garner into the men’s room at Hickory Motor Speedway long ago, and took the opportunity to conduct an impromptu interview.

I checked in supermodel Kim Alexis to a Hilton once, even giving her a 10 percent discount without even consulting a supervisor. Pretty sure she still thinks of me every time she checks in to a hotel.

So when you looked up and lifted your sunglasses off that pretty face, and I saw the May sunlight glisten in your milk-chocolate brown eyes, I knew it was too late.

You were looking at me the way I look at a bleu-cheese and bacon cheeseburger on a kaiser roll.

Or something.

“Hey!” you said through that smile, drawling just enough to make me want God to bless Carolina all over again. The small talk we shared in that 8-second span shall remain between us, but I felt a shudder of remorse when you said, “it’s SO good to see you!” and you glanced at my ring finger as I passed and my bum as I turned to leave.

My eyes are up here, honey.

A sinking sense of dread came over me as I saw you ball up the paper you were writing on, and I could plainly see despite a distance of at least 50 meters between us that you were writing my initials in little hearts and then in fancy, happy cursive, scripting “Emily Pacheco,” then sighing as you admired the beauty of it.

Aye, mi amor.

What have I done? I never wanted to be on the cover of People magazine. To have to wear sunglasses inside. To have the paparazzi documenting my every soccer match and pizza-buffet visit.

I just read your account of what you want in a man on ABC.com:

She is looking for someone who makes her laugh, doesn’t take himself too seriously and can be her best friend …

I’m cursed with perfection.

You’ll move on, though, when it’s time.

You’ll find someone who doesn’t need anger management.

Who won’t flake. You deserve this.

Someone who will adore you and cherish you and challenge you and support you and love you and Ricki unconditionally.

You’ll find the spark we shared, someday. With someone.

Maybe in another time, in another day … this really could have been something. Savor that.

I mean, this is how Kelli Pickler deals with it. Totally.