Dissed by Dr. Phil - The Conclusion

To read "Dissed by Dr. Phil" parts 1, 2, and 3, click here.

Lights! Camera! Action! My heart was pounding as he smiled ever so seductively and moved his tanned body in closer to mine. The studio lights created a warmth against my upturned face as I awaited his kiss with breathless anticipation. As the camera zoomed in to capture the moment, and millions of viewers watched, I swooned with delight as he...

"HEY! YOU OKAY?

Huh? "Oh - yeah, sure. I'm fine", I replied with a start.  Geesh. Nothing like someone yelling in my ear to shake me back to reality.

"They said we need to move down one seat," hollered the chubby obviously hard of hearing, woman to my left.

"Okay. Sorry. Guess I was daydreaming," I answered as I picked up my black bag and moved one seat to my right.

"Lordy. I don't know about you, but I'm a nervous wreck. I haven't been with a man since my husband croaked two years ago. Melva – that's my daughter - was actually the one who received the invite, but since she went off and got herself engaged, she signed me up. I told her I'm liable to make a fool of myself on TV, but what the heck," she guffawed, poking me in the arm. "It won't be the first time. By the way, my name's Geraldine – what's yours?"

With a sigh and a forced smile I replied, "I'm Camille. Nice to meet you, Geraldine." 
Why me, God?

"Oh, shoot, honey. Just call me, Deenie.

Deenie was 80 if she was a day. Her grey hair, pulled back in a bun and neatly tied with a pink ribbon matched perfectly with her bright pink and green flowered dress. Well, I moaned to myself, if I wasn't visible on camera before she sat down, I certainly will be now. 'Hey! Did you see Camille on Dr. Phil? Yeah, I think so. Wasn't she the one next to that lady in that hideous flowered dress?'

Watching the camera men scurry to and fro across the stage, I began wondering if there would be any men backstage Deenie's age, and if so, what the odds were that I might get stuck with one of them. Crum.

Think positive, Cinderella, think positive. At least I have a good seat. I love sitting at the end of a row and besides, now that I'm dead-center from the stage and only four rows up from the floor, I'm easily accessible when Giovanni comes running to meet me.

Watching the backstage action was exciting. Men and women with little things sticking out their ears were walking, talking and looking important. A couch, several chairs and a large divider had been placed on stage, and men with cameras on their shoulders paced back and forth in front of our seats creating a nervous stir among the audience.

Curiously eyeballing the empty section of seats across the aisle to my right, I noticed movement toward the back of the studio and turned to see what was going on.

Well, well, well...would you get a load of that, exhaled the young woman in front of me as a blond, curly-haired Adonis look-a-like appeared through the studio door dressed in black and carrying a red rose. Shrieks, howls, catcalls and whistles unexpectedly burst forth from every part of the female audience as our matches began filing in.

Woo-hoo! Oh yeah, baby! Yow-zer, wow-zer. You, honey, can fry my bacon any 'ol time!

Good Lord, I cringed looking around. Am I at the Dr. Phil Show, or did I take a wrong turn and end up in a male strip club?

One by one, like sheep being led to the slaughter, our long-awaited perfect matches filed into the studio, all nervously clutching a red rose and plodding along as though each were on his way to a funeral. Nervous glances were traded back and forth among the men as they took their seats, while the ladies calmed down and managed to regain their composure.

Frantically scanning the goods for someone interesting, I heard a deep male voice shout from the direction of the stage, "And now ladies and gentleman, I'd like you all to give a warm welcome to Dr. Phil-l-l-l!" The Applause Meter kicked into high gear as Dr. Phil sauntered on stage.

Hmm...much better looking in person, I thought with surprise. Cute, nice body, great smile. Too bad he's married. Oh well, that's okay. It won't be long now, and I'll be walking out of here with my perfect match.  And then I yawned real big. Crud. I hope I wasn't on camera for that. 'Oh yes, now that you mention it, I do remember seeing Camille on Dr. Phil', my friends will say. 'She was the one with her big, fat mouth open, next to the 'ol lady in the ugly flowered dress.'

First up was a remake of the old "Dating Game" show. Three nice looking guys were seated on one side of a silver screen divider and a cute 20ish-something girl with long blond hair in a tight red dress on the other side of the screen.  Naturally, I hated her at first site and could have cared less which schmuck she chose. Just get on with it, pick the stupid guy, and get the heck out of here so we can proceed with the really important part of the show – me!

After interviewing each hopeful guy with enough giggling and tee-heeing to make me want to gag, Barbie made her selection and the mis-matched couple exited the stage - and the show, thankfully, broke for a commercial.

"All right everyone. Good show so far!", announced another man from the stage who appeared to be in charge of something or other. "I do want to remind you that today – on the show – you will each be introduced to your perfect match!

More woo-hoo's, shouting and applause, and then it came time for the next segment of the show, which I have personally entitled, Old Meets Even Older. After Methuselah and his counterpart were introduced and sent off to enjoy a weekend get-a-way for two at a nearby health spa (wise choice) the show took another commercial break.

Please, I begged to the Perfect Match Gods while waiting impatiently for the show to resume. Before my lipstick completely disappears and the curl wilts from my hair -- please let it be time to meet my match. And - oh yes. Would you send me someone good? I mean...he doesn't HAVE to be perfect. Just send me someone sorta cute and nice - and if he happens to look like James Bond, I promise not to complain. Amen.

"Hello? Hello? Is this mic on? Testing, testing." People were suddenly scurrying around the stage as though there was some sort of problem. Great, I muttered, don't tell me they have technical issues just when it's my time to go on.

"Everyone! May I please have your attention for just a moment?" The important something or other man was talking again from center stage. "We unexpectedly fell behind during the Dating Game segment of our show, and therefore, we will only have time today to connect a few of you with your perfect match.”

Moans and groans filled the room as I scooted to the edge of my chair and listened intently as the lucky names were called.  

"Oh, hon-n-ey. I just can't believe it!, moaned Deenie when the fortunate few took their seats up front. "You're SO much more attractive than --um-- what'd ya say her name was again? Mona?"

"No, Deenie. Her name is, Anna," I whispered dejectedly, looking down at my lap.

"Well. Whatever. As I was saying, you're way prettier and I can't believe they picked her and those other three bimbos instead of you."  Deenie gave me a soft, reassuring pat on the back as she glared at Anna, who was now seated in the first row, blond curls a bobbin' as she chatted it up with a young Asian guy.

Goodbye Giovanni. Goodbye Perfect Match. Slumping even further down in my chair, I tearfully watched as the four lucky couples were seated and prepped for the last segment of the show.

I just can't believe this, I lamented while mulling over the events of the day. All the planning and preparation, taking a day off from work and waking at 2am to drive two stinking hours in L.A. traffic – for what? To be dissed by Dr. Phil, that's for what!

Just as my pity party was in full swing, an unexpected 'crack' of the microphone brought me back to reality. 

"Hello. May I have your attention again for just a moment?"

Yuk. Mr. Bearer of Bad News is back, I crabbed, scowling at the man on stage.

"We're just about ready to proceed with the show, but before we do, I would like all the men to move to the other side of the stage and sit with the ladies. And ladies - before they join you, please adjust your seating so there is an empty chair in between each of you. This way it will appear to our television audience as though you all were introduced to your perfect match as promised."

Oh...yesss...the television audience, I hissed. We mustn't disappoint our viewers now, must we? It doesn't matter that you dragged us all here today for nothing, just as long as your precious viewers are entertained.

As I was about to become over-the-top, spitting nails mad it suddenly occurred to me that this just might be a good thing. I mean – what did I have to lose? It was a foregone conclusion that I wasn't going to be formally introduced to my match on stage, but who knows, I decided with a smile, maybe someone really great will end up seating next to me and I'll meet my match after all.

Chaos ensued for the next several minutes as the men were uprooted and re-directed to their new seats on our side of the studio. Even with the help of stage hands, the men wandered aimlessly up and down the aisles and back and forth between rows, obviously clueless as to where they should sit. Just as one guy would prepare to take an empty seat, the man in front of him would grab it. Add to the confusion, the incessant chattering and twittering of the ladies as they waited expectantly to see which man would be 'theirs' for the remainder of the show, and you would have sworn you were at a poorly organized speed dating mixer.

"Isn't this fun?" Craning her neck and doing her best not to miss one tiny minute of the excitement, Deenie grinned at me over her shoulder, "I don't much care who sits next to me. As long as he's breathing, I'll take 'em! Can't be too picky at my age, ya know."

As much as I tried, I couldn't relax. My mind was spinning about as fast as Deenie's head was swiveling. Filled with excitement and yet terrified all at the same time, my blue eyes were peeled and glued on any and every man roaming the aisles near my seat.

Luckily, I was placed at the end of a row and since the men had to enter from the opposite side, I had the advantage of sizing a guy up way before he made it down to me.

Hmmm, I wondered, scanning the area nearby. Could it be that short one over there? He's kinda cute. Ah, darn! That ugly brunette got him. Hey – maybe the blond? It looks like he's... ack! Forget it. What about....? Never mind. Hey-hey! Now we're talkin'. Handsome guy with mustache walking this way alert! Getting closer...closer...

On, no! You've GOT to be kidding me!

Deenie? Young Handsome Hunk with Mustache is being matched with Older Lady in Ugly Flowered Dress? I guess I'm just doomed for disappointment, I cried inwardly.

Digging in my purse to find a stick of gum, a mint, a pinch of arsenic, I watched dejectedly as the Hunk took his seat next to my Friend the Traitor, when all of a sudden I happened to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be a large inverted pear with legs waddling my way.

Oh, dear Lord...please, I whined, closing my eyes tightly. I promise never to do anything bad again. Just make whatever it is go away.

"Well, howdy do to you."

Opening my eyes, I was horrified to see hovered in front of me, a rotund (that's polite for fat) balding man in a faded gray t-shirt with the words, I Eat Glue, imprinted in black across the front. I could smell garlic on his breath and he was grinning down at me as though I were his next meal.

I'm doomed.

"Guess I got a seat right next to you", said the pear as he turned and wiggled in front of me to take his seat. Gr-reat. Just what I always dreamed of. Being eye-level with a pear's behind.

"Soooo, you're my pretend date, huh?", he drooled, while stuffing himself into his seat.

"Appears that way," I replied in my best monotone voice.

"Wow. Who woulda thought I'd end up on the Dr. Phil Show next to a looker like you."

A 'looker'? Oh, pew. Maybe if I close my eyes and sit real still he'll think I'm dead and leave.

"Yep. My wife and I were just standing there...", he continued, oblivious to my intense disinterest.

Wife? My eyes popped open. "Did you just say 'wife'?"

"Yeah. Me and Rosie were standing in line outside the studio waiting to see some cooking show, and a man came up and asked if I'd like to be on Dr. Phil. Said they came up short and needed several guys to pretend to be dates for a few of the women. Here I was, all ready to sit next to that old lady, but then the guy in front of me sat down - and poof! I got you! Isn't that a hoot?"

Trying my best to ignore him, I rehashed the scenario in my mind.

Let's see. I'm not going to meet my perfect match. I've just lost a gorgeous hunk to Jed Clampett's mother-in-law, and I'm going to be matched on television with a married piece of fruit. Yes. Definitely a real hoot.

The extended commercial break ended and the show, as they say, went on. The chosen few on the front row were introduced to their respective matches and interviewed by Dr. Phil, each one ooing and awing over the other for the sake of the viewing audience. And every time the little red light on the camera blinked my way, I made it a point to smile real big and hug the pear. Sure he was married - sure he was fat and smelled of garlic - but he was my match and I was going to make the best of it.

When the show concluded, more apologies were made to those of us going home empty-handed, and an invitation was extended to all the Perfect Match members to meet for lunch at a nearby restaurant. I was hungry, but having endured enough humiliation for the day, I decided it was best to leave and head for home.

Smiling, I pulled out of the studio parking lot feeling rather proud of myself for keeping a positive attitude and not letting the disappointments of the day get me down. I was feeling pretty darn good...that is - until she showed up.

Hey! Anyone here seen a loser?

Go away, Sybil. Don't ruin my good mood.

Yeah, well, too bad. My mood stinks and it's all your fault.

My fault! How do you figure?

'O-o-o-o, God. Plu-eeze. Anyone but Nosehole.' Well, you happy now? Nosehole was a prince compared to the moron we ended up with! I EAT GLUE. Give me a break. Where did you find this guy anyway?

Well. He wasn't THAT bad. Besides - I checked my email before heading home and this really cute guy from D.C. sent me a message. He'll be in San Diego next week and wants to meet for dinner. And I just have a feeling it's going to be a date worth remembering.

Little did I know that my upcoming date with D.C. Ken would make my experience on the Dr. Phil Show seem like a fairytale.