Walking The Walk For Truffles!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
If Miss 'Nebraska' can kick up her heels with flair on the catwalk, anyone can...even me!

Submitted: September 17, 2006

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Submitted: September 17, 2006



Hold on to your hats, folks!
You know what time of year it is. I can barely contain the excitement myself.

Yes! It's the "Miss USA" 2005 pageant, airing tonight, and proudly sponsored by the new and revolutionary diet pill: "You'reFatAndYouKnowIt."
Well, I for one, will be getting the popcorn ready, rugging up on the couch, and watching pretty much anything else that is on during the broadcast. (Actually there is a very interesting little documentary on Discovery Channel - "The Unusual and Acrobatic Mating Rituals of Porcupines." Good stuff.)

Before I do though, let's backtrack a moment....

Beauty contests.

Some say that they are the scourge of the modern woman's movement.(And don't you just hate that turn of phrase? It sounds like we are constantly performing a necessary bodily function.)

To others, it is a fascinating way to spend an evening, "Ooohing" and "Ahhing" at all the pretty dresses and hair-dos. Believe it or not, this lass herself, had dreams of sceptres and sashes in her younger days as well.
As a little girl, I would drive my mother to drink (the cheaper chardonnay, that is) with the insistence that I too, practice my stylish, catwalk gait down the hall in her best garments.
Most of the time her clothes escaped unscathed, although she has never really forgiven me about the large, lime cordial stain on her Gucci shawl.

Of course, I am a lot more mature now, (I can spill lime cordial on my own clothes quite adequately enough.) and a couple of years ago, I found myself discussing this contentious issue with my friend Harriet, the 'legal eagle'.

"It's disgraceful! They put women up there like pieces of marinated sirloin. They think that we women have nothing better to contribute to the world, other than looking after our appearances." she snorted contemptuously, whilst applying her new shade of Revlon lip-gloss.

I pointed out to her that the pageants might give women a chance to show the world, that under all of that make-up and hairspray, we have a brain that coordinates with our Chanel handbags.

"Ridiculous notion!" my learned friend countered, before throwing a gentle tantrum over the fact that she had just broken a nail, while trying to adjust her mascara.

I felt that I had to investigate this phenomenon further, and what better way to get the inside scoop, than to give it a whirl myself. So, quicker than you could say "Pass me my machete! Winter's just finished, and I need to shave my legs!", I rushed out and signed up for the local "Beauty and Talent Quest."

There was so much to do, and so much to prepare!!
Vying amongst such extraordinary local talent was going to prove quite a challenge.

I made the registration just in time, as the contest was to be held the very next day. The order of events included a light lunch, to allow the entrants to get to know one another a little better, and this would be followed by the all-hallowed pageant itself.

Realizing that I might have go one step further than my tracksuit pants for the occasion, I decided to call my fashion guru, Marilyn from the RSL club, to come and give me a helping hand.

She knew straight away what was required, in order to create a jaw-dropping sense of style.

"Well, ya haff ta just make sure that ya catch the judge's eye, ya know." she explained to me earnestly. "Whatcha need to do is make sure they can see ya tits, and then I reckon you'll piss all over the other tarts."

Of course, that was a novel idea, but I couldn't see how the sight of my less-than-ample bosom was going to score me any extra brownie points. Marilyn shrugged, and proceeded to plan "B", which was a hightly innovative notion that involved belching the alphabet, whilst smoking 10 cigarettes at the same time.

Left with the choice of Marilyn's torn, Black Sabbath tee-shirt, or a lemon, puffy-sleeved bridesmaid dress that I was forced to wear back in 1986, I felt that it was more beneficial to go with the latter.
Better the 'devil you know' in these perilous situations.

Before I knew it, the big day had arrived.

Licking my lips nervously, I waited for my chauffeur to open the door of my chariot. My 'chauffeur' wasn't keen to act so gallantly though, as he asked me whether I was going to just get in, or let the taxi-meter tick over.

Didn't he realize who his passenger was?
Look out, Miss "Congeniality!" Make way for Miss "Just Above Mediocrity!"

With my various costumes in hand, I proceeded to walk down the red carpet. I smiled and waved enthusiastically to the cheering crowds, (I'm not exactly sure whether they were cheering for me, or the horse in Sydney's race three, but I still felt pretty damn important anyway.) and made my way into the main hall of the prestigious Palm Beach Lawn Bowls Club.

I was almost hyperventilating with excitement, as I joined my fellow entrants in the luncheon area. During the lavish reception, I found myself wedged in between two of my formidable opponents: Miss "Am I Still Visible- Bony-Bum," and Miss "My Daddy is a corporate CEO, so nyah nyah ni nyah nyah."

It was time, I decided, to test the waters with my sparkling conversation skills.

"So, Miss "Bony Bum," you certainly have made an interesting selection off the luncheon menu today."

"Yes, well, I wanted to show all the women here, that you can still make yourself eat when absolutely necessary. Actually, I am having a bit of a splurge today. We'll need our strength up there."

"Quite so. Am I to take it then, that you are going to actually eat ALL of that lettuce leaf?"

"Good grief, no!! One of my pet causes is assisting the starving people in Africa. Any leftovers will go towards feeding the poverty-stricken masses."

"Well, good for you! I am sure that they will be eternally grateful for your generous contributions."

I didn't have any more time to discuss the global starvation problem with Miss "Bony Bum," as she suddenly had to be excused to go to the bathroom.
I really felt for her. I guessed that she must have had some sort of stomach bug, as it was the third time she had gone today, in between mouthfuls that is.

The piercing crackle and feedback from the microphone on stage, signaled to everyone that the pageant was about to commence.
I lined up behind the curtains with the rest of the ladies. My palms were sweating profusely from nerves. Luckily, "Miss CEO" was standing right in front of me, and her authentic fox-fur stole proved to be just the remedy for that.

One by one, the contestants demurely took to the catwalk. I wobbled around the stage with the rest of them, giving the judges my sexiest 'wink wink', until one of the attendants pulled me off-stage, and asked me to quit it. Apparantly, I was frightening the smaller children
I would probably have fared brilliantly in the swim-wear segment too. How was I to know that large, green, garbage bags were not allowed?

Finally, it came to the part that I just knew I would kill the crowd with: The "How Could I Make the World A Better Place?" segment.
I strode out to the announcer, and waited confidently for him to ask me the question.

"And now, Miss "Just Above Mediocrity," how would YOU make this world a better place?"

"Well, I am glad you asked me that, because if it was up to me, I would ban ALL Reality TV. I would also make sure that John Howard PLUCKED his eyebrows on a regular basis. Yeahhh!! I would make it so that the common people...yes, that's YOU! You out there!! The common people COULD read restaurant menus, without having some stuck-up, toffee-nosed waiter having to sarcastically explain what a 'truffle' is. Hell!! I would put a global ban on TRUFFLES altogether. I would ensure that there would be NO more cruel and inhumane torturing of women with those electrolysis thingies, and THEN I would...."

Now, I understand that we contestants had a time limit on this little speech, but did they really have to use the gag and hand ropes?

Finally, the master of ceremonies announced that the "Talent Show" was about to commence.
I knew that this one was going to be tight.

Miss "Bony Bum" wowed the crowds, with her extraordinary talent for playing "When the Saints Go Marching In" on her rib cage. Miss "CEO" also let her creative streak shine, when she dazzled the judges by making a castle out of gold AMEX cards.
Whilst this may have been a little intimidating to some, I wasn't going to give up now.

Grant it, I didn't quite attract the same hysterical applause as did Miss "Size Double D-Cups," when she managed to utilize her astonishing assets to pour juice into a glass, without moving her hands.
However, I did my very best, and at least my sweet and soothing rendition of "Purple Haze" woke the old guy at the back of the room, who had fallen asleep at his poker machine.

With all of us lined up on stage for the final presentation, I squeezed my eyes shut, and thought of my idol, Germaine Greer. I knew deep down, she would be applauding me for embarking on such an important assignment.

As it turned out, a relatively unknown contestant walked away with the honors.
Miss "I Won It Last Year And The Three Years Before That, So I Didn't Bother Showing Up At All" was fiercely applauded, and the announcer congratulated the empty stage on her marvelous efforts.

Feeling a little dejected, I walked to the counter to collect my consolation prize: A three-week subscription to Jenny Craig's Weight Loss program.

I can't say that participating in this was a major, life-altering event. However, for all of you who may be considering it for yourselves, here are some words of advice from this newly experienced "Beauty Contest Entrant."

If in doubt, just ditch your shirt and give the judges a bit of a flash.
With all of your dignity already stripped away, you really have nothing to lose.

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