“All The Single Ladies.”
Only because you’re begging me.
That is the only reason I would ever revisit The Toddlers and Tiaras Brock Divapalooza for a second day.
Granted, there is still a lot of chewy age inappropriate meat left on that Sacred Reality Cow. But all the You Tube videos say to keep your blogs fresh with new content, and those 12 year olds seem pretty internet savvy, even tho they’ve never seen daylight.
So only because you’re begging me.
And…well…maybe just a little bit because it may still be burned into my skull. Just a little. Or maybe a little more than a little. Like those optical illusion eye tricks, where you stare at the ink blot for 30 seconds then close your eyes and you still see Jesus. That kind of burn. What if it doesn’t go away? What if I have to spend my twilight years seeing Jesus/Brock and his jazz hands every time I blink?
Speaking of…did you notice that one of the Pageant Moms was wearing a “Team Edward/Team Jacob” tshirt? At the Event? I know, right? Thank you Casual Fridays for kick starting the downfall of civilization. I was kind of hoping the other Mom would emerge from the Aqua Net fog bank wearing a “And What Team is Your Son On?” tshirt and then they could just throw down in the Ramada. Now that would be good TV. The Real Housewives of Memphis Mobile Home and Drive-In City. Get Andy Cohen on Line 2.
Anyway. So Brock, the self proclaimed Diva, was setting his pretend Jimmy Choos on fire doing a crazy sugar buzz gymnastic dancey thing in his attempt to take down the competition. That kid is a crazy good gymnast in that googly puppy feet still too big for my body kind of way. And he was having the best time. My first question was why he and his matriarchal enabler (look it up…) were rehearsing so much when he was the only dude in the pageant, and he was already guaranteed every Boy Trophy. I would totally just phone that in. My second question was the red glitter tank top, only partially hidden under the sheer black over blouse. Not being one to leave us hanging, TLC quickly explained that the tank was done in the same red glitter styling as Dorothy’s ruby slippers. And then they reminded us again that Brock looooooved him some Dorothy. And then we got to see him in his multiple Dorothy Halloween costumes. Yeah. Multiple. Like more than One. Here’s hoping the Wizard can send that girl back over the rainbow, asap.
Luckily my gaze was quickly shifted back to the Mom again. They never really explained what was going on with the Mini-Me Anna Nicole sitting on her lap. What was that all about? Check your DVR. I’m assuming it was a sister or something that was either in her own age category, or they just sprayed her down and dressed her up in something he had outgrown so she didn’t feel left out. But it also looked like a Today’s Special Value porcelain Marie Osmond doll from QVC, and I never really did see it blink, so your guess is as good as mine. All I know is if that thing is sitting at the foot of my bed when I wake up I will swear off Reality TV forever.
When Brock chose the Girl Crown instead of the Boy Helmet you had to admire his chutzpa, but the biggest question was why can’t they make those things so they actually fit a human head? Seriously. Every Little Miss Uber Goober Mini Supreme is stacked up with at least 14.5 pounds of weave, and those crowns still don’t fit. What template is that factory using? How big do underpaid overseas workers think the American head really is for crying out loud? Every crown always slide down the kid’s head like a carnival ring toss game. I would have a lot more stuffed unicorns in my stash if it was that easy at the State Fair.
And another shout out to my girl Betty who ran the show. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, girl. Thirty minutes after all the Little Miss Woulda Coulda Beens are done having their self esteem sucked out of them by Mom and the judges, you know it’s Betty Time. A quick hit of hotel bathroom cologne, a little spritz of left over Team Edward spray to give some height at the roots, and she’s outta there. Off into the late afternoon humidity to finally get to live her Dream. I’m betting that before Brock had back flipped his way into the Mini Van (home made Diva OnBoard sign suction cupped to the rear window) and popped in a Bob Fosse DVD for the long ride home, Betty was already singing Karaoke somewhere. Lip stick stained glass and Camel unfiltered in one hand, multi purpose lyric cheat sheet/blotting napkin in the other, it’s time to show them how it’s done. Probably at one of those bars that always seem to be next to a Dairy Queen.
Like Brock’s two American Girl dolls who accompany him to every pageant, every week we somehow end up on this ride whether we want to or not. (Don’t even get me started on that doll thang…)
I give up. Fighting this show is impossible. Like the eye of a wind storm that sucks you in before you know what happened, every week we’re transported to a world of sparkly color and glitz, surrounded by a million costumed little people who seem to come at us from every angle. As uncomfortable as it makes us feel, we keep staring. Every turn reveals another tiny costumed dancer, crazier than the last. Where do they all come from? We don’t know how we got here, and we don’t know how to get home.
Surrender Dorothy.
Or at least work those red shoes, girl.
