PERFECTLY RIDICULOUS

Late last night as I was channel surfing, my eyeballs stuck on a tuxedo-ed man who was serenading a baby, probably between 1-2 years old, with Elvis’s “I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You.” The man, who looked to be about 40, was squatting down, practically nose-to-nose with this dressed-up little doll, and she was gaping back at him like a deer in the headlights.

What the hell is this? Well, it was some sort of beauty pageant for little girls. I forget the name…Little Miss Perfect Southern Charmer, or some such nonsense. There were three judges, two women and one man who was the head judge, proclaiming that he was looking for beauty and personality. Yikes! As if he wasn’t creepy enough, one of the women had a Chihuahua attached to her. She’d take notes with her right hand, while her doggie friend lived in the crook of her left arm.

The mothers of the mini contestants, who were ages 1 through 4, were mostly pathetic pageant rejects of years gone by. They’d sit in the crowd and mimic all the gestures they wanted their little darlings to perform on stage…shimmying, strutting, throwing kisses, and the like. Scary. One mother said that she’d spent $1,000.00 for each of her daughter’s three competition outfits…sportswear, party dress, and western wear.

It’s hard for me to relate to this kind of absurdity. I didn’t wear make-up until I was 14, and the most I’ve ever spent in my life on any one outfit is $118.00. Growing up, I might have been a good candidate for Little Miss Perfect Tomboy. I could run and jump and climb and get dirty with the best of ‘em. And if any weirdo in a tuxedo had tried to romance me with an icky Elvis song, he would have been slugged. That’s about how much beauty and personality I had!