Short & Sour

Pick and Choose

Five women.

Four hibiscuses.

Well, that's an issue.

Is the plural of "hibiscus" "hibiscuses?" Or is it "hibisci," like the plural of "octopus" is "octopi?" Maybe no English scholar has figured this one out yet, and everyone just says "hibiscus flowers."

This observation makes Dan feel more confident about himself. Not everyone has everything figured out. It's fine if he doesn't too, right? Right?

"Welcome back, viewers, to Pick And Choose, the hottest new reality dating show you'll find, no matter how much channel surfing you indulge in on your weeknights! Out here on the island, our sexy Single Daniel Rielly has everything figured out. Are you ready for the Bestowal of the Hibiscuses?"

Ah, so it is hibiscuses.

You should know this. You've been on this damn show for seven weeks.

Dan picks up on a loud cheer and snaps out of his grammar-induced haze. The five women standing in front of him are now screaming, their arms tangled around each other as their faces aim for the cameras trained on them. Despite the now-darkened sky and the lightest chill seeping in, without exception, they are all wearing colorful bikinis and don't seem to be cold at all. Despite standing barefoot in the sand of the not-so-white sand beach they're filming on, not a single grain is caught on their skin or in their hair.

Despite their objectively captivating, logic-bending beauty, Dan can't help but feel disinterested.

He signed up for this. But he also didn't sign up for this.

Or rather, he didn't mean to sign up for this.

"Now let's hear from the man himself!" The host, a peppy, polished man named Samuel Cartwright, turns to him, holding his microphone aloft. The light (from the various tiki torches poked in the ground as well as the electric contraptions wielded by the cameramen) reflects eerily off of his shiny white teeth, and his bright pink tropical-themed shirt flutters slightly with the wind, the printed hibiscuses folding in and out of view.

Right, the hibiscuses. The matter he's trying to avoid.

There is a small table positioned right between Dan and the excited women. On this table is a silver tray. On this tray are four hibiscuses, each of them a different color. Pink, yellow, blue, and purple. In the coming minutes, he will tuck each one of them into the hairdos of four different women. The odd one out will be sent away.

He will have to pick and choose.

Of course, these hibiscuses weren't real flowers. They were plastic. He found that rather fitting.

"Dan! What are your thoughts on this lovely batch of women?"

The question seems to be polite, but Samuel's side-eyed glare notes otherwise. The cameramen shuffle awkwardly behind their equipment, and the young producer in her sharp fitted blazer adjusts her glasses aggressively from her place outside of the scene. Great. Dan missed a beat.

Swallowing, he manages a sheepish smile, in the hopes it will look endearing to the folks at home. "They're exactly that: lovely. I wish I could spend more time with all of them."

An articulate lie.

The women shuffle at that, giggling and exchanging loaded looks at each other. The cameras and microphones swoop in on them, hoping to capture anything to serve as dramatic fodder during the post-production process. They remain in that swooped state much too long for it to be natural, and so Dan twiddles his thumbs awkwardly against his bare, sculpted chest, feeling very much like a fool.