Yesterday, Buzzfeed published a scathing new article. The subject? America's number one pervert, just edging out Bill Cosby, R&B singer R. Kelly. The piece claims that Kelly runs an abusive "cult," made up of young, barely legal girls, at his compounds in Atlanta and Chicago. The girls are under Kelly's complete control and have to ask his permission before they do anything, even use the restroom. Whenever they disobey, they are "punished" by Kelly, either verbally or physically. They are trained by a house mother, who at the ripe old age of 31, is the oldest of the group. Kelly is 50. Several of the girls' parents say they haven't seen or heard from their daughters in a year or more.
I make no secret of the fact that I’m a proud member of Bachelor Nation. I ignore the haters, the ones that don't understand the show's appeal. The Bachelor and all of its respective spin-offs are my brain candy. When I learned one of my favorite people from the last season of The Bachelor, Rachel Lindsay, had been selected as the new Bachelorette, I was ecstatic! She is a perfect choice. Well-liked by the audience and by the women with whom she competed for Nick Viall’s love, and one of the few people of color on any of the shows to make it to the final three, the show’s producers knew they were capturing lightning in a bottle.
I’m pretty sure Bill Cosby is guilty, a friend says to me, but can we still like the Huxtables? In a word - no.
I have a confession. When I was 13 -- I was SUPER creepy. That's not an exaggeration. If the parents of my crushes had gotten restraining orders against me, I wouldn't have been at all surprised. I might have saved them the trouble and turned myself into the authorities for stalking and general weirdness, throwing myself on the mercy of the court. I had a super-sized, mega-crush on a particular guy. He was beautiful. Honey-skinned, chiseled cheekbones, dark curly hair, a deep-throated, husky voice that belied his age. It was love.