As I’m sure you know, this weekend was Miss America.
Since we hosted family this weekend and the people demanded NFL games, the pageant got DVRed. But I didn’t watch it alone later, in shame. Oh, no. No, my husband actually requested that we watch it together because, and I quote: “It’s fun to watch that stuff with you.”
I guess my bipolar pageant disorder is entertaining. On 1 hand, I minored in women’s studies and think it’s shady that women are required to wear swimsuits as part of a “scholarship competition.”
On the other hand? I am a catty, catty bitch. And my mom used to run our local Miss America pageant, and I love all pageants and know that Miss Mississippi used to be required to live for a year with pageant consultants before competing for Miss America and I also know how to tape boobs and Miss America is the only true pageant because it has a talent component and Miss USA is a ju-co dropout poseur and blah blah blah.
We sat on the couch and commented on evening gowns and groaned at some questionable “talents.” Then, I fell in love with My Guy all over again when he said, “I kind of hate the swimsuit competition. None of these women are attractive – they’re all way too thin. I don’t ever want to see your abs, OK?”
Well, if you say so. OK.
Then, to cement the deal as well as stay with the no-abs theme, he asked, “Is Miss Iowa’s talent going to be making bars and frying up some tenderloins?”
Sadly, no. Miss Iowa was a hellova tap dancer and got 4th runner up. However, I’m sure she can also make hella-awesome bars.
Are bars a thing where you live? You know, bars – like, brownies, but not chocolate? What you take to a potluck or the church luncheon after a funeral?