I’m confused. What’s up with the flirting in the norwegian version of «The farmer wants a wife”?!
Every Monday night TV2 reduces me to a hormonal, weird out teenager. It’s literally painful. When farmers and suitors gather around the whole country, it sure is difficult not watching, – but it sure is difficult doing so, too.
I mean. What’s going on every time these contestants «step it up» and start F-L-I-R-T-I-N-G? Well. Hell breaks loose. Obviously. In the most peculiar way, they transform from being relatively up-to-date people, – to milkmaids in 1919.
They start stroking. They sit down and stroke.
Yes, stroke. Cuddle, snuggle or whatever you wanna call it. It’s bad enough talking about it in a national television show. Not to mention having this kind of conversation with a person you hardly know. And yes. They do all this. What they do is, they tickle each other’s arm. Read that again, and I think you’ll get it. These are grown-up people, tickling one another.
In real life, there are hundreds, or thousands of unwritten rules to follow. One of them, for instance, is never to tickle a one-night-stand. You may go for a ride, of course, – but you never ever tickle. And I think most of us know (thank God). Comparing people in these kinds of scenarios actually isn’t such a bad idea, when you think about it. There are some indisputable similarities. They have hardly talked, but they like what they see. It’s a good start, but there’s still plenty of rules.
I’m all for cuddling up, – but it requires a few things. For one, you should know the other person. At least a little bit. Preferably, you should also have kissed. You should have been to a couple of dates, – and at the very minimum; both should know that there’s something going on. Something significant. Semi- significant.
Honestly, I feel for them. These milkmaids in sudden spotlight. In the past, they have probably hooked up before. Something has worked. They have coupled up. Yes, chances are they have closed the deal, – at least once or twice before. At a certain point they have seen, talked and texted. They have probably met, and talked too. So, what is this F-L-I-R-T-A-T-I-O-N with capital letters? How exactly do you do that?
“Congratulations! Now you`re down to three girls. How are you going to show the girls affection, and make room for some true romance in the following weeks? Will you flirt?”.
I can see her before my very eyes. Katrine. The host. Maybe an old reference, but she`s definitely the one. The sweetest of the sweet. Dearest Kathrine Moholt, but with all of these questions. These dreadful questions. And the f- word. The f- word, which everyone hates. Questions and lines, flown in from England. From farmer wants a wife. Most of all, I pity her. I pity them, as well. Farmers, suitors, men and women. Young and old. At least what they do, is providing an answer just as awkward, old- fashioned and bizarre. So, every time. Each year.
(Moves his head gently, from side to side, while making a wry grin, looking funny)
“Well…I mean. I don’t know exactly, but…Well, I guess I’ll have to flirt or something. Look her in the eyes, I guess….Um. Maybe stroke and touch her and stuff”.
And each time the whole crew gives a standing ovation. Because they’re so damn happy that the farmer knows what to do. Because they don’t know. No one knows. No one even knows what flirting is. So, every time the f- word reappears, they all go like this;
«Well, I mean. I’m not sure, really. Um…You know, actually, I don’t think that I’m that good at flirting».
However, the crew wants more. They keep staring and won’t let go. Seven- eight men, and sixteen eyes. They know what they want. They’ve done this before. They stare for as long as they have to. And finally. Finally, it’s there. What they all have been waiting for;
«But, I…Well, uhm… I guess I`ll have to try and touch her, then. Look her deep into her eyes».
It almost smells of metoo, if you ask me. “Keep those hands where I can see them, farmer!”. I know if you like me, if I can stay on the farm. Or if you make me some gluten- free waffles without milk and soy.
Instead, they sit in the grass. Stroke and laugh nervously, all weirded out.
Then, just when she finishes talking about college, he starts stroking her on her back. Not just once, or as they stand up, but the whole damn time. For thirty minutes he strokes her on the back. She is numb under her jacket after ten of them, but doesn’t know him well enough to let him know. And then, when he finally is done, she feels obligated to do something in return, – so she pats him on his arm. For forty minutes she pats him on his arm. He itches like hell, but doesn’t tell either, – because now he can’t even remember her name.
For years, I have been witnessing this, but now, enough is enough! In the continuing, let’s not insist upon that these poor individuals should flirt in a language they clearly do not know. And no. You don’t stare into each other’s eyes. You call the police. Times Are A-Changin and the flirting has evolved. We laugh and eat waffles instead. Therefore, dear screenwriters, please consider polishing the lines, just the slightest, tiniest bit. Think about it. For the sake of us all.