Out of town judge

October 11, 2019 3 Comments

It was an honor to be asked to judge an out-of-town beauty pageant, which nowadays is called a “scholarship competition.” Due to the confidentiality agreement, I can’t reveal the name of the event, but these young ladies in Central Alabama were dynamos of good grades and good deeds. The top winners earned the honor to ride on the FFA float in the Christmas parade, visit nursing homes and cut grand-opening ribbons. 

I can understand their politically correct reasons for eliminating the swimsuit competition, but as someone who has participated in this activity, let me just say, if you show me a young lady who is capable of simultaneously walking in high heels, sucking in her gut, standing in the correct spot and smiling into a blinding spotlight — all while being squeezed, taped, poked and pinned into a swimsuit, you’ve got a confident woman on your hands. She’s the one who will grow up to fight city hall, rescue a litter of puppies and cook dinner for a dozen people on the same day. A swimsuit contestant will be the one who will someday snatch her child from the mouth of a lion, smack it on the nose, then save you from a burning building on the way home. 

If you asked 100 women if they’d rather walk through a swamp filled with snakes or cross a stage while wearing a swimsuit, 99 of them would choose the swamp. But win or lose, the swimsuit contestant is the one you’ll want to have by your side in battle. There’s no better test of bravery than a Jantzen and a spotlight. 

The swimsuit competition was replaced with a costume contest, which doesn’t tell me anything about inner fortitude. It only reveals who has a kindergarten teacher for a mother, due to their graduate-level use of glitter. 

Halfway through the evening, I grew bored with all the dramatic readings (doesn’t anyone take piano lessons anymore?) until Twila Grace danced with flowy scarves to the Guy Penrod version of “Count your Blessings.”  Things almost spun out of control when the next contestant did a ventriloquist act and belted out, “I miss Mayberry, sittin’ on the porch drinking iced-cold cherry . . . Coke.” The na-na-na part got the poor girl’s tongue tangled and she went into a gagging fit and started to spit a little, which was illuminated beneath the glaring lights and made it look like the sprinkler system had been activated.  Frustrated and embarrassed, she drop-kicked the dummy into the audience, but everyone thought it was part of a comedy routine and roared with laughter. The last contestant of the night stole the show when she twirled the baton to “Eastbound and Down” from Smokey and the Bandit — which I’ve decided is officially the best baton twirling song ever. 

We awarded the title to the baton twirler because she was cute as a button, and during the “get to know” session, confessed she had borrowed her evening dress to save money, which we all admired. Mothers with fingers still encrusted with glitter lingered in the parking lot to hopefully question our decision, but the Sheriffs deputy escorted us safely to our cars. That’s why it’s always good to get judges from out of town. 

This story first appeared on AL.com and in the Mobile Press Register, Birmingham News and Huntsville Times.