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Who Wants To Wear Fake Diamonds Anyways?

April 6, 2009

Is there ever a worse time for your mother’s doctor to refuse to renew her Xanax prescription than right before your niece’s pageant? Good god, what an inconsiderate, misogynist jerk my mother has for a doctor.

Being a confused feminist, I actually carry around quite a bit of internal conflict over pageants.
The parading of young adult girls around, as if they’re livestock up for auction bothers me. And what the hell does the back view of an evening gown have to do with having a brain?

My self-righteous feminist reigns superior in the auditorium…until I see my niece on the stage, and then I’m all HOLY COW, SHE’S GOTTA WIN! PLEASE LET HER WIN! PLEASE LET HER WIN!

Don’t ask me to explain how I go from bra-burning feminist to fanatic pageant groupie in less than 5 seconds. I don’t understand myself.

I also don’t understand why other past and present queens from neighboring Po-dunk City are asked to stand up and be recognized in the auditorium. My mother and I decided we’re going to wear a crown and sew up a sash so we can stand up and be recognized at the next pageant.

My mom says she’s going to buy a two-foot tall crown so that it’s bigger than any others there, but she’s always been out of touch with reality. I, though, recognize we’re in a recession and since I follow the latest trends, I know repurposing is all the rage right now. I plan to make my crown out of Ketel One bottle tops and Pixos.

My niece has been in a few pageants, so I know how nervous I get for her. I briefly thought of sneaking a flask into the auditorium to ease my nerves, but that might look like I have a drinking problem.

When they called my niece out for the impromptu questions, my nervousness was so terrible that I leaned over to ask my mom for one of her Xanax pills. While stress-relief through a swig of bourbon at a pageant would be frowned upon, somehow popping a doctor-approved pill for the same thing is socially acceptable.

Let me tell you, in the Strange Department, my vodka-cap Pixos crown has nothing on societal standards.

Unfortunately, that’s when my mother told me about her prescription issue.

But I made it! I made it through the entire pageant without a drink or pill for stress relief, and all without the first episode of nervous gas too.

My niece didn’t win, though.

We took it in stride, and the next morning, gathered in my mom’s kitchen for Sunday brunch where my mother and I dispensed our older and wiser wisdom to my niece, and discussed the higher purpose of losing the pageant.

Of course, “higher purpose” translates into us pointing out every mistake the winner made during the pageant, and how my niece had the prettiest dress in the pageant and it MUST BE RIGGED that she didn’t get at least the evening gown award!

Once we stabled our moral high horse, I then talked my niece out of becoming a veterinarian and that she could be a Vegas showgirl instead.

Clearly the feminist in me is back.

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