Let me start by saying that I watched the first 70% of this finale in Kevin Connolly’s sports bar stuffing my face with rosé and mozzarella sticks, like a woman after my own heart. But then I had to leave early so I could get home and start this recap for you guys because I LITERALLY WORK 24 HOURS A DAY. (Except when I am in my underwear watching The Office.)
For this year’s finale, it appears they have integrated the actual finale with the After the Final Rose, which was obviously the brain child of some sneaky genius over at ABC. So we get to watch the finale WITH Rachel live, because there is nothing more American than watching your last two horrific break ups on a national reality show.
Are you even allowed to break up with someone if there isn’t a boom mic above your head? I don’t even know. Backstage Eric, Peter and Bryan look cool, calm and collected.
Nah I’m kidding, they all have poop in their pants.
But Chris Harrison needs to interrupt our scheduled programming to announce that JUAN PABLO CALLED and would like everyone to know that he’s married now.
Um, cool story, bro. Nobody gives a flying fuck that you’re married, I barely cared when you were engaged to that bitch nurse.
We last left off with Rachel discussing life with Peter, and I see no less than 14 candles in frame right now. And your sorry ass thinks lighting ONE will make your apartment fancy? Ya right. Have you ever even BEEN to Cost Plus World Market? I didn’t think so.
Rachel talks to Peter about how he isn’t ready to propose, and it’s basically not going well. Remember how three days ago he wasn’t ready to propose? Well he still isn’t.
But they stay in the fantasy suite anyway, because I took one look at Peter getting out of the limo on night 1 and could’ve told you that she would keep him around until she can fuck him in the fantasy suite. That’s absolutely nothing against Rachel that’s just like, obvious logic.
The next morning they greet each other through tiny windows and pretend they aren’t thinking about each other’s private parts.
On Bryan’s date they ride horses through a vineyard, which is boring but gets kind of fun when Rachel insists on riding “the brown one, of course.” I appreciate her lighthearted humor.
After their horseback ride they drink out of truly giant wine glasses.
Meanwhile she is attempting to listen to Bryan, but it’s clear she’s thinking about Peter’s dick. I mean look, I don’t know a more elegant way of saying it! The truth is the truth.
That night Bryan senses something is off, and although I think he means with their emotional connection, to me the thing that’s off is the fact that Rachel is now 55% shoulder pads.
Like, she is mostly shoulder pads at this point, no? Also they sit at a table surrounded by crates and candles and for some reason it’s totally freaking me out.
Awkward Peter-dick tension aside, she invites Bryan to the fantasy suite and I’m honestly wondering who the fuck they employ over in Bachelor Nation who has such great handwriting.
I mean that is NEAT.
Back with Chris Harrison, Rachel explains that she asked all the guys the important questions: about health insurance, credit score, the works. And I’d like to go on record and tell them to release the footage, because I’d like to see what they all said.
Because if ya man doesn’t have solid health insurance and a credit score over 750, he is not marriage material. Period.
ANYWAY!!! The morning after Rachel and Bryan’s overnight they are served what is either chunky coffee, or cream of mushroom soup.
At the rose ceremony, Rachel’s sleeves are giving me high anxiety.
They look very heavy and scratchy and I just don’t think anyone would go into a store, pick that dress out and be like YEP!
She gives roses to Bryan and Peter (duh) and has to talk to Eric on a bench that seems very, you know, NEW. Like, they BUILT IT for production-type new. I work in TV and I can sense a prop bench when I see one, okay?
So she says bye to Eric and sheds not a single tear, which is savage as hell.
On Rachel and Bryan’s final date they get in a hot air balloon, which doesn’t seem very safe.
Yes, I’m a total god damn pussy. I fucking KNOW THIS. But I have seen too many videos of people dying in hot air balloons that crash into power lines to feel okay about the situation.
So they’re up there and Bryan is like, “I’m afraid of heights,” and she goes, “Afraid of ice??” Like she actually thinks he’s 100 feet up in the air and is like ya know what, now’s the time to tell her I’m afraid of frozen water.
Later he gives her a Spanish dictionary of WORDS (PALABRAS) and it’s semi cute, although him writing down the word LABIOS for lips makes me feel weird. (You know why.)
For Rachel and Peter’s final date they explore a monastery, and it’s like every religious thing to me: creep city.
Peter then explains what marriage is to him, and she is just SO ANNOYED that he won’t propose to her at the end of this. But the thing is, he CAN picture football games and farmer’s markets and wine nights with painting. She is basically like UMM OKAY?? Nobody wants to do one of those basic ass wine painting classes, Peter. We’re CELEBRITIES NOW.
So she is pissed the fuck off, and Peter just can’t stress enough that he loves her, but he can’t decide he loves someone one day and propose to them the next. Do you think you’re in a totally real life scenario where 100% of the public would agree with you? ‘Cause there, you are not.
They try to talk out this issue, figure out if it’s going to be Rachel who caves or Peter who caves, and they basically come to the realization that neither of those scenarios for TOMORROW are going to god damn work.
I will hand it to them, they’re having a super real convo, but they break up. And suddenly she doesn’t have eyelashes on and I assume it’s because after five hours of talking and crying to this guy she was like I NEED A MAKEUP WIPE and pulled those suckers off. I been there, girl.
So now Chris brings him and Rachel out to face each other and I’ll be honest, it is very awkward. He’s nervous as fuck, she’s kind of being a hard ass, and he feels attacked, which is honestly a word I thought only Real Housewives were allowed to use.
They eventually get to an okay place, but it’s still pretty sad and Peter is clearly very upset still. I mean, he did walk past her eyelashes for two days in his hotel room, which is maybe the saddest thing I’ve ever heard in my life, just a broken man clinging to some bitch’s eyelashes while she’s legit already engaged to another man.
Which brings me to my main point, which is that she cried her god damn eyelashes off, BEGGED him to fucking propose to her, and then the VERY NEXT DAY got engaged to ol’ Bryan. Like, I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to be hysterically sobbing asking someone to propose to you the day before you get engaged to someone else. Seems odd.
But Bryan still has to actually propose. I’m getting ahead of myself.
So he walks out and meets her on this vista and it is WINDY. Like, the most windy ever. This is a sound guy’s legit nightmare.
He tells her that from the moment they first met a chemistry bomb exploded and I absolutely hate his choice of words, but I guess we have to press on because it feels like five o’clock in the morning at this point. So he proposes by calling her Rachel Lynn Lindsay, and she accepts.
They both seem very happy and she’s just smiling away while Peter is somewhere nearby staring at her old eyelashes.
But we made it, guys. The end of the season. Thank you for reading and sharing, reading and not sharing, whatever you did. It’s been real.
Next week BACHELOR IN PARADISE kicks off, which is my favorite show ever, but I have some bad news for you that is wonderful news for me. I will be taking the first two weeks of BIP off to go find myself. I’m kidding, I am very confident in who I am but I just need to go to Europe and drink some wine, okay?
I promise to be all caught up for the third week, and I’ll mayyybe even throw in an abridged version of what I missed once I’m back.
Also if you’re curious, this season’s recaps totaled 17,660 words, which is equivalent to 71 pages of a book! So it’s LIKE I’m writing books here, ya know? Except I’m not.
And follow me on Twitter, maybe. Whatever. Your choice.