What a cavefish will do for love

The Boyfriend of the Roommate sent me an instant message yesterday, informing me that he had sent me an email for something he thinks I'd be PERFECT for. I checked out the email, and it had been sent by a friend of his on behalf of someone else, and it was looking for people to appear on a reality show about dating in New York. Specifically, people who really should have no trouble finding someone, because they're fabulous, but for whatever reason, don't. I laughed and told him I was too shy to be on TV.

Then I told a few friends and they were all like "OH MY GOD! DO IT! DO IT!" Despite my objections that I might be struck retarded when a camera hits me, and that I'm not "TV pretty," and what if they make us hang out in bikinis, like they tend to do on the reality television, they remained steadfast in their assertions that I should go for it.

Then I thought about it. Do I really think I'd be selected? No. Is there a chance I could maybe score an interview? Possibly. And interview = material for the blog. So I emailed the girl. And now I wait. Just know people, I did it for you. I do it all for you.