Life is Not a Beauty Pageant

I‘m embarrassed to admit it, but I competed in a pageant one week ago. Mom conned me into it. Ever since the realization set in that college would soon abduct her only child, she’d been reverting back to “motherliness.” Consequently, she has created plenty of mother-daughter fun time. So although I had no real desire to vie for Miss Louisa Septemberfest, I let her make me over and curl my hair and cart me off to the community center. My first beauty pageant.

I felt like Little Miss Sunshine, the plain-looking outcast in the dressing room. The surreal contest was about what you’d expect it to be in that the glitter-covered competitors took themselves very seriously. This disorganized, little community center audience was a big deal to them; getting attention and love was their drive. But none of the beauty queens were blatantly “Toddlers in Tiaras” scary. They magically turned into real people as soon as you took the microphone away.

A tall, blond Miss Greenup County showed me how to “walk.” Pretty much you just stomp around in a counterclockwise circle. Maybe she was just bidding for a Miss Congeniality vote, but her help certainly amped up the fun factor on my pageant experience.

An orangey spray-tanned Miss Elizabethtown was the only other college girl in our midst. In a refreshing flashback to reality, we chatted purposefully about majors, sororities, and hairspray. She cautioned me not to take advantage of the surplus freedom that college will bring.

At Transy I will be meeting a variety of eccentric, if glittery, people. As the old cliché says, you can’t judge a book by its cover. I didn’t expect to learn anything at the pageant last week, but any new experience that lies outside of your comfort zone has lessons to offer.