Every time the 41-year-old woman from Ohio sobbed and whined because she was afraid the 26-year-old guy from Tunisia would leave her or was maybe only living with her in America to get his green card (a possibility all of her friends and family saw as a given), I felt a little bad for laughing.
But reality shows tend to either make you jealous of other people’s lives or feel better about your own life, and 90 Day Fiancé definitely does the latter. Am I a bit ashamed of the glee I experienced at the expense of a completely clueless middle-aged woman who wanted so badly for someone to love her that she managed to delude herself into believing a good-looking foreigner who refused to kiss her actually did?
Sure. But more than that, I’m glad I’m not that delusional, and I’m relieved that despite my practically perpetual singular status, I haven’t yet resorted to paying for someone from another country to fly here just to convince myself I’m not alone.
I’m also happy my family isn’t “nice” enough to stand by and let me marry someone who visited a lawyer an hour before our wedding to check how long he had to stay married to me before he could get his green card. And even if they are, I made my sister promise to stop me if I ever reach that level of crazy.