And I’m not just talking about seeing Troy and Carly suck face like two particularly eager bulldogs with a jar of peanut butter.
Seriously, I will never forgive Channel Nine for subjecting me to a five-minute sequence of those two rolling around in a park slurping face. Troy’s weird slack jaw, eyes wide open kiss turned me straight, gay again and then finally asexual.
But it was just the start of a major cringe fest that basically hospitalised me with a dislocated shoulder, and had me concluding that almost all of these people are truly, truly awful.
Davina especially. She sits at the very, very top of that trash heap.
The way she stalked that dinner table, prodding at people’s emotional sore points in order to cause chaos that she could sit back and giddily enjoy, made for troubling viewing.
She was like a drunken toddler, stumbling around and wreaking havoc – only this toddler looks 40 because of far too much cosmetic surgery.
Am I sounding too harsh yet?
We know this show is manufactured to create human catastrophe for our viewing pleasure, and that’s OK, I suppose. But seriously, this episode was so troubling that I felt ashamed to be a human being.
Even my saving grace, poor Tracey, let me down.
There I was feeling so proud of her for enduring a dud marriage to a wanker, finally finding her voice and ditching him, learning her worth and venturing into the world, and meeting a nice bloke she fell for.
But then it became very clear that she’s manipulating Sean too, by carrying on daily communication with Dean and then telling her new beau it’s unwanted and uncomfortable.
That’s clearly not true. She’s just trying to have her gross cake and eat it too, for some inexplicable reason.
That evening was a vivid illustration of what happens when you get a potent mix of fragile masculinity, dangerously low self-worth and more silicon than a toy factory.
But it’s like slowly driving past a car crash. I can’t help but have a look. Bring on the final reunion episode.
This article originally appeared on WHO.
