Married At First Sight: James Weir recaps MAFS episode 9 - NEWS.com.au

After narrowly surviving an aggressive act of drunken affection, one Married At First Sight husband has publicly shamed his former addict wife because of her yen for sucking back on the odd Winnie Blue.

The only thing that saves them? A public declaration of boganism. Australia, raise your Bunnings sausages in solidarity.

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It’s the first commitment ceremony of the year on Sunday night. You know the rules – everyone assembles at the warehouse and, as they each walk through the door, we peg Textas at them. Then each person writes down “stay” or “go” on the back of some old Myer receipts we’ve fished out of Mel Schilling’s handbag. If one person says go and their partner says stay, they both have to stay together another week against their will which, in some countries, is called torture.

And if that's not enough, we have to watch that British scientist ask everyone if they’ve had sex yet. I don’t understand why she’s allowed to do that but when I loudly ask my colleagues the same thing it becomes a formal issue with paperwork.

Let’s address the elephant in the room right up top: Yes. Poppy’s pimple is still in fact here. We thought it had finally gone away when we saw her at Wednesday’s dinner party, but it turns out that was just the dark lighting. Under natural light, it’s still alive and well. I won’t get caught up in unnecessary detail about it but I will say it appears she has applied some Zovirax and then caked on some concealer and it has all just mixed together to form a crusty, pasty mountain.

In disappointing news, a lot of the couples are content and happy so, of course, we will not be addressing them at all. We call Tash and Amanda up hoping they give us some good drama, but it’s all the same whining we’ve been hearing for a week.

Tash keeps hiding from Amanda and Amanda is sick of finding her wife hiding in cupboards.

“We’ve had time together!” Tash argues, bringing up that dinner they shared. You know, the one where Tash told Amanda she wasn’t attracted to her in anyway at all? Jeez, Amanda. What more do you want?

“I’m talking about being away from everyone, by ourselves, in our PJs, being ourselves, our bras are literally off. Take your bra off!” she demands of her wife.

Tash doesn’t even want Amanda referencing her bra, but quitters don’t get endorsement deals on Instagram, so she stays.

Next up, Poppy and Luke. She covers her face, hoping we don’t see the … well, you know.

Poppy has been in a real state all week. Again, she says it’s because she misses her kids, but we know her inner turmoil is directed at Lyle.

The experts tell her to snap out of it and to try look past Lyle and see the man she’s with.

“He is very supportive, he’s always giving me food,” she sniffs.

And just like that, she articulates the cornerstone of true love.

We summon Aleks and Ivan to the couch and things are as alarming as Ivan’s mankles.

“Is there sexual chemistry at the moment? No, I don’t think so. We’re just having a good time as friends,” she tells the experts.

“Are you attracted to him?” the British scientist with the bangs asks.

“I … think he’s … attractive? He’s not my usual type,” she winces.

We stare at her to make it awkward and after several minutes of silence she reveals her type is tall, dark and handsome. Isn’t Ivan this?

“He’s … tall?” she ventures.

They both decide to stay and we’re sure neither of them regret their decision.

Finally, it comes time for the reason we all even bothered with this snoozefest — David scolding Hayley and Hayley yelling, “I’m not my passssst!”

For the past few days, whenever anyone has spoken to me, I’ve simply scream-cried at them: “I’M NOT MY PASSSSSST! I’M A GOOD EGGGGGGG!”

Last time we saw these two, Hayley got drunk at the dinner party and lured David into a room and scratched his face while trying to force him to pash. But, there’s always two sides to every story.

“It didn’t feel very nice for Hayley to try kiss me … It felt very uncomfortable,” David quietly confesses.

Hayley has a different perception of events.

“I got him to crack a smile and he gave me a kiss. It wasn’t, like, a romantic kiss. But we had good banter. He was cheeky I was cheeky. We had a moment where it was positive,” she beams to us.

Hayley, we admire your optimistic outlook.

David kicks it off on the couch and it’s clear he’s fuming. He immediately brings up the cigarettes.

“To be honest with you, before the experiment I hadn’t smoked in months,” Hayley replies.

“But I found in this situation, I’m so stressed beyond belief. And I bought my first pack of cigarettes in a little bit over a year,” she tries to convince us.

But David’s rage isn’t just about cigarettes. He brings up the wage argument where Hayley allegedly dissed is salary. Ugh, it truly is on par with Heidi’s government housing story.

“She said, ‘Darling, your $25-an-hour pay ain’t gonna cut it,” David snips.

“I DON’T SAY ‘DARLING’, I SAY ‘DARL’, MATE!” Hayley refutes. Well, checkmate. Not the rebuttal we expected, but it’s one we’ll accept.

“We need to find out why this isn’t working,” John suggests. Good idea, John. Can you recommend a good therapist?

“I’m a money hungry whore, apparently … which I’m not,” Hayley snaps before David jumps back in.

“Hayley is someone who, for the most part, I feel is rude and inconsiderate and not letting me speak and finish. Hayley can’t change her past with drugs. And I accept that. And so here I am with a recovering drug addict that’s a smoker. I’m bewildered by it,” he sneers.

It wallops Hayley in the gut.

“Oh my god I can’t believe you just said that. I’m not a recovering drug addict. I’m a recovered drug addict. It’s terrible,” she replies, struggling to hold back tears before she just lets them stream.

“I’m not my passsst! I’m such a good eggggg!” she wails.

“For you to say you’ve been matched with a recovering drug addict … I’m a RECOVERED drug addict. I’m not that person anymore. And these guys would attest to it, I’ve done so much f**king work on myself to get to where I am today.”

She can’t believe her husband would lash out and shame her for her dark past over something as petty as a joke about his truck driver pay packet.

“I’m not that kinda girl! I’m the biggest bogan ever!” she declares. “Money doesn’t mean thing to me. It was a joke, seriously.”

David smiles at the floor.

“For her to say that in front of everyone … that does mean a lot to me,” he gushes.

And just like that, a declaration of boganism saves a marriage. We love love. But more importantly, we love bogans.

For more observations on Lyle and Trisha’s bangs, follow me on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram: @hellojamesweir

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