dashed dreams

i am a pageant junkie.  if it's televised, i will watch it: miss usa, miss america, miss universe -- i love them all.  the invention of the DVR has only enhanced my pageant love, because it enables me to instantly replay all the cringe-worthy moments.  you might not realize that for the past two years, miss usa has fallen during the evening gown competition in the miss universe pageant.  (and i'm not talking about a small stumble.  i mean a full-fledged plummet to the ground, with her sparkly high heels up in the air above her.)  a dropped baton during the talent competition is always fun to see again.  but the best?  no doubt about it: the interview portion.  i'm not sure i've ever gotten through an entire pageant without having to pause and rewatch least one inane answer.  you'd think these girls would be able to think on their feet after so much training.  but year after year, they seem to know that there is a sara mann in north carolina, eagerly awaiting an absolutely absurd response to a question on some hot-button topic.  (anyone remember when miss teen south carolina, who was asked why a fifth of americans can't find the united states on a world map, responded that we needed to "help the iraq to build up our future"?)

i'm not typically this cynical.  but it doesn't take a trip to the therapist's couch to figure out why i delight in others' misfortune.  one year, when i was probably eight or nine years old, my eyes were wide as i soaked in all the pomp and circumstance of miss america.  it was really one of the highlights of my year -- growing up, we were allowed only one half-hour of television a week, so to be allowed to watch a two-hour special and stay up past our bedtime was a very big deal.  i confided in my parents that my plan, once i was of age, was to be a triple threat in the talent competition: i was going to compose my own song, sing it, and play it on the piano.  there was no way i could lose!  i began thinking about what color gown i'd wear and how i'd fix my hair.

and then, it happened. my father -- my loving, nurturing, supportive father -- dashed my little girl dreams.  "sorry, honey," he told me.  "you've got freckles.  i think there's a rule against having freckles in the pageant business."

just like that, my miss america aspirations came to a screeching halt.  i cried myself to sleep that night.  he doesn't even remember saying it, and, looking back on it, i realize that it was obviously a joke.  but at the time, i was devastated.

and so i grew up to enjoy pageants for an entirely different reason.  they're entertaining in so many other ways, from dissecting the dress choices, to wincing at missed notes (seems everyone thinks they can sing these days), to laughing outloud at the awkward banter between mario lopez and whatever ex-miss america winds up sharing co-hosting duties.  you can bet i'll be tuned in tonight as 53 hopefuls vie for the crown.

and as always, i'll be peering closely, thankful that we invested in our HD television.  for the clarity sure makes it easier for me to search for any trace of freckles.