James Weir recaps Married At First Sight 2020 episode 27

MAFS star Lizzie’s husband is walloped with an insane demand — and it leaves us all stunned. James Weir recaps.

The Human League sang it best in 1981 on their smash hit Don’t You Want Me: She was working as the 2IC of a Zamel’s in a regional Stockland shopping centre, that much is true.

But even then, she knew she’d find a much better place.

Tuesday night’s episode of Married At First Sight is really just ripped from the lyrics of this iconic single.

Lizzie, former sales associate at jewellery chain Zamel’s, is looking for a future that’s brighter and bolder than the costume jewellery she once sold. A life that doesn’t dull and lose its lustre … like the costume jewellery she once sold.

Can Seb be the one to pluck her out of her ordinary life and turn her into a princess? Or the 2020 version of a princess: A fitfluencer who eats lots of brunches. Everyone aspires to this kind of greatness.

And who wouldn’t want that life for their child? As we see tonight, Lizzie’s mum isn’t going to stop until her daughter is dining out exclusively on brunches seven days a week.

Tuesday night’s episode begins and at first we think we’re having a nightmare. Turns out we’re just at Lizzie’s mum’s joint on the central coast.

Heyyy girl.

Gillian is a straight-shooter who doesn’t have time for Seb. She finds out he’s a personal trainer who quit an arts degree and she scoffs. Look, we get it. Arts degrees are a joke. But the fact he’s a PT isn’t necessarily bad. As someone who has dated several PTs, it only becomes a problem when you go to the movie theatre and they don’t want to buy any snacks at the candy bar and then shame you for eating a jumbo bag of Maltesers by yourself. That’s when you pull the pin. Couples therapy can’t save that.

“How much does that pay?” Gillian asks Seb about personal training before swiftly answering her own question. “Not much.”

Gillian wants someone who can keep her daughter in jewels and handbag biscuits.

“Lizzie needs a person with a reasonable income to sustain the life she’s accustomed to,” she snips.

“You’ll need to earn a lot of money hanging around Lizzie,” Gillian informs Seb before demanding to see his real estate portfolio. Seb doesn’t have a property portfolio but he can make funny noises when he runs. Gillian is unimpressed.

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You know, people always rail against this show and blast it for thumbing its nose at traditional relationships. But it’s actually less modern than we think it is.

“I want a credit card,” Stacey informed Michael last night before declaring she will not be working should their relationship continue.

“I think the man should pay for dinners,” KC sobbed when Drew tried to split the bill at the Coffee Club.

This show makes me want to self-isolate year round just so I don’t have to meet any of these people.

Anyway, Gillian tells Seb to come back when there’s a better number on his monthly pay slips. Ouch.

What is he to do? Where is he to go? He’s out on his fanny! So over the bridge from Flushing to the Schef-

Wait. Dammit. Now I’ve got my iconic rags-to-riches jingles mixed up. I’ve forgotten who’s supposed to be the cocktail waitress and who’s supposed to be Fran. All I know for sure is we’re C.C. Babcock.

From one nightmare to another, we suddenly find ourselves at the drunken weekly dinner party and everyone is handed scraps of paper. The task? Write anonymous sledges about each other. Each person will then be handed all the insults people have written about them before being forced to read them aloud in front of the group.

It’s just a super healthy exercise that supports mental stability. The program should be rolled out in schools. Even better, let’s just cut out the middle man and the fiddly bits of paper. The Government can pay me to be an ambassador like Scotty Cam and I’ll just travel around Australia attending random school assemblies where I’ll pick kids out of the crowd and make them stand on a podium while I yell insults into a megaphone.

After weeks of relishing her VIP status and MAFS-splaining the experiment to the peasants, Lizzie is the first to cop an insult from the anonymous truth box.

“Elizabeth, why do you feel the need to get involved with everyone’s business when you’ve been here for such a short amount of time. When did you become the expert?” she reads from the slip of paper.

Then everyone at the table yells “ooooooh!” like they’re in the audience of Jerry Springer. It’s the most fun we’ve had with this show all week.

My reaction when HR inform me they’ve received yet another complaint.

“All I’ve ever said was that I hope everyone’s honest with it – I’ve never given you individual advice on any of your relationships,” Lizzie rebuts.

Exactly seven seconds after declaring she has never given individual advice on anyone’s relationship, she launches into giving Connie and Jonethen individual advice about their relationship.

It spurs on the crowd and it’s just more of the same. No one understands why Jonnie won’t have sex with his wife and then Connie’s forced to beg for it and it basically ends with everyone thumping their fists on the table while chanting, “Bang her! Bang her!”

“I haven’t had sex because I don’t think it’s the correct … for me it’s something personal,” Jonnie stutters. “It’s something that means a lot to me to have sex with someone. I’m not just gonna have sex for no reason. I feel something before I have sex with someone and that’s why I have sex with them because I feel that.”

“What a girl!” the Jerry Springer crowd yells at him.

Connie doesn’t know what to do. She has to ask a question that she doesn’t want the answer to.

“Are you attracted to me?” she fumbles.

“Um … no,” he replies.

“Ah … I still … find you … attractive? I just feel like the spark’s not there …. but I still find all your traits … attractive? I still think you’re attractive.”

Everyone’s crapping on about mixed signals and attacking Jonnie. The truth is he’s just too weak to break up with Connie. Yet again, we have to step in and solve the problem. So we anonymously write it on one of the insult cards.

To our dearest Connie.

Next up, Michael is given an anonymous card demanding he finally provide a definitive answer on whether he cheated with Hayley.

“I legitimately cannot remember. I was absolutely hosed,” he slurs because, really, when is he not absolutely hosed? “I said to Stacey, I just need to know one thing – if, for any, reason I did kiss her I need to know that you forgive me for that. I said I apologise for that.”

Why did Michael apologise for something he reckons he didn’t do? It doesn’t make sense but our interest in this is melting faster than Michael’s ice cube empire.

The dinner party ends and, once again, an opportunity for intelligent, fulfilling conversation is waste. People didn’t even use the anonymous question cards to find out deeper meanings about the people who surround them.

Questions like, how does Stacey afford the lease on her 2012 model Range Rover?

And, why did KC feel the need to crimp her hair? It’s a dinner party, not the Rock Eisteddfod. That question will haunt us forever.

For more observations on crimping and C.C. Babcock, follow me on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram: @hellojamesweir

We demand to know the truth.