Another Reminder

This has absolutely no relevance to anything having to do with my blog. You’ve been warned.

Donald Trump sent a little correspondence in the mail last week:
What a kick in the pants.

Last time I checked, you have to be under the age of 27 to compete in the Miss USA pageant.

Yet another reminder of how old I have become. If it wasn’t already bad enough that I missed out on all the Real World fun by surpassing the age of 25, now I’ll never get my chance at wearing a massive diamond tiara that is sure to cause back problems over the year of my reign.

Sad. Because, when younger (age 5- not like yesterday), I was the stereotypical girl who dreamed of being a princess. Or Miss USA. Whichever- I wasn’t picky.

There was one small attempt at glory. My mom entered my brother and I in the Little Mr. and Miss Pageant at a county fair. I think I was 5.

So many things went wrong with this.

First of all, my brother and I didn’t get to compete together. I really think we could have double teamed it and exponentially exploited our cuteness. We were freakin’ adorable. I mean… come on… look at us:
And no- that is not photoshopped.

Instead, I got stuck with some blond kid who had a comb over and a runny nose. I didn’t even want to touch him because he’s possibly the originator of the cootie epidemic.

And he CRIED when it was our turn to walk out and wave to the crowds. I tried to tell him to get it together. But no. His mom had to walk out with us. HIS MOM. I looked like such a loser by association.

And then, on top of it all, I was screwed from day one. We had the interview portion of the competition on a separate day and were asked what our favorite animal is.

I figured everyone else went with the standard “dog” or “cat” or “unicorn” answer. And yes, unicorns are quite awesome. But in preschool? Could you be any more unorginial?

So I got creative and said “doe”. Bet the judges didn’t see that one coming. And it made for a fantastic answer. They’re pretty and graceful. Nurturing by nature. A wild spirit. And obviously I reference the female deer variety- to position myself with a little feminist sass.

Did they ask me to elaborate? No. Only to repeat myself. It became very clear to me, after I walked out (isn’t that always the case?), that they probably thought I meant “dog” and just couldn’t say “g” correctly. So instead of being genius, my answer ended up making me sound like a boring backwoods 5-year-old with a speech impediment. Another fail.

Plus, my mom tried to use hot rollers in my hair and from the pictures, it’s obvious my pageant hair is not quite  up to speed with the gals on Toddlers and Tiaras. Would hair and makeup have been that THAT out of line to request?

I’d show you the photographic evidence, but I’d like to hold on to at least a little dignity.

Plus, the pictures are back in Missouri in a photo album and I’m not quite sure if my mom knows how to use a picture scanner.

So did I end up winning? Of course not. And neither did the snot factory who was my partner. Obviously.

Wasted opportunities.

I could have been the original Honey Boo Boo.

Sigh. Guess I’ll just have to sit here in my normal apartment and at my normal office and think about what could have been.

So really, I guess I just wanted to say “GEE THANKS, DONALD” for the painful childhood memory and reminder that I’ll never be a princess.

Just had to get that off of my chest.

Happy Freakin’ Tuesday.

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