One of my dear friends, Laura, demanded I start watching ABC’s “The Bachelor” with her this season. Mind you, it’s a show I’ve never seen before or ever wanted to watch, uh, mainly because I’d like to think I have a life.

When I flat-out refused the offer to join her, she pulled a gun on me thinking she could cajole me by fear. When I still rebuffed her, she played her last card saying, “If I make dinner for you every Monday night, will you watch this show with me, dammit?”

I folded like a cheap card table.

I mentally prepared myself like a soldier going to battle. For instance, I attended a Mensa meeting today — just so that I would feel like my mind was being stimulated before undergoing the unrelenting shock therapy of reality TV.

So tonight I sat down to a very lovely dinner of tilapia and garlic green beans and reluctantly tried to stomach 15 girls vying for one very buff guy’s attention.  From what I can tell, this show consists of some very inebriated, very tarted-up girls preening for the camera and heaving their ample bosoms towards said bachelor in question.

I painstakingly (emphasis on pain) watched the show, but found my friend Laura’s shock and disbelief way more intriguing.  She’d yell at the TV like an enraged guy yells at a televised sporting event. “What is he THINKING?!” she’d bark at no one in particular. “Is he BLIND? Can he not see she’s a skank?”

Each of the girls is blessed with hundreds of pounds of hair that, I assume, is supposed to distract from their overtly nasal voices.  (These are voices that sound not unlike Smurfette, if Smurfette were an uneducated, female longshoreman who lives just outside Encino. Fer shurr.)

During commercial breaks I’d try to discuss world events, the works of Camus or something I’d once seen on the MacNeil /Lehrer Report.  This would help ensure that my brain was not slowly turning gelatinous.  To my chagrin, Laura wanted to discuss the girls’ wardrobe choices.  (Or lack thereof.)

Speaking of clothing, the oft-shirtless bachelor is usually a snappy dresser.  He’s likeably hunky, articulate and enjoys practical jokes, and, apparently, skanks.  Whether he finds true love on this show remains to be seen.  Whether I last to the end of the season also remains to be seen.  Fortunately, Laura can cook, so I’ll probably last a few more weeks, which is more than I can say for some of the bimbos on this insipid show.