Mrs. Iowa Pageant Day 2

After day one (and my breakdown) Steve Sleeves and I ordered a pizza and I got the real scoop on these Mrs. America ladies. All the guys seemed to get along well, all bored as shit, empty wallets and all went out for a few beers. (while I learned that I can't "dance to anything" in opening number practice)

One girl spent 4 thousand dollars on her gown. The girls that are getting their hair/make up done are dropping 500 bucks. I super glued on my press on nails as I felt better about my pageant choices.

Going in I knew I was going to be the discount queen, that is just how I roll, but the degree that these women spend on themselves would continue to shock me over the next few days.

Day 2 morning is here. The directors of the pageant said over and over be downstairs at the hotel at 11 for interviews. I went. I waited.

I photo bombed. 

While waiting (2 hours) the only half wit that almost knew what was going on regaled us with past pageant horror stories. In the early 90's there used to be "work out wear" and as they were waiting to go on, one ladies had taken a laxative...and shit her work out wear. This half wit had to then help her wash out her shit pants in a sink. I'm not sure which is worse: having a stranger wash your shit or that the outfit probably looked like this.

One good thing that happened waiting was there were two little girls about 9 and 7 who were super interested in my sewing. They found out through pageant gossip that I had made my own stuff and from then on every time they saw me they asked "DID YOU MAKE THIS TOO!?!". The night before I told the one girl that was obviously going for congeniality that I had made my skirt, and now some how everyone else had already talked about it without me. But these girls were hooked.

Then it was line up for costume time.

I love my dress. Those little girls loved my shoes. I got to talk shop for a while and frankly it made my day. Swimwear was next and we got a break. I hit the bar in my dress, for a beer and some lunch.

I changed into my suit and the hotel bathrobe and headed downstairs again. Me and the few girls that also were wearing bathrobes bonded. If there weren't clear lines between us and them before, there were clear now. They told us to line up-we were going in. I took off my bathrobe and lined up. And waited. And waited. Thank god I was first. To top it all off the hotel was set up like this:

Two main doors on either side. People walking by with their luggage. Old people asking what is going on. Bell hops loving their jobs. Husbands finally glad they got roped into this. Some girls took this time to do crunches in the hallway. I took this time to dance and make jokes. When it was time to face the judges my heart did sink a little. Not that they wouldn't think I'm pretty but that I'm subjecting myself to this. It was however part of the experience so game on. This is when my "most I've ever felt like a hooker" happened. All four Iowa ladies were in front of 8 judges. We stood, we turned. So there I was standing in a swimsuit having my ass scored. I couldn't help but laugh to myself a little. As I just kinda stood there waiting for the queue to turn around I noticed the other girls straining to hold their legs at just the right angle. When we turned around my smile was genuine. I liked myself. Girls in line talked about covering their tattoos. I have none, but thought, I bet I was supposed to cover up the scar on my stomach from crashing a moped as a kid. It never even dawned on me that it was a flaw.