I grew up watching Miss America pageants. I loved the beautiful women with their coiffed hair and fancy evening gowns. they walked the runway so graciously. And, then, at the end, Burt Parks would crown the winner and sing, "There she is, Miss America..." I just knew that someday, I would be Miss America.
So, when I was a senior in high school, at the ripe old age of 17, I entered the Miss Mini-Cassia Pageant. Crown jewel of the southern Idaho pageant circuit. I went to rehearsals, met the other contestants and worked on my talent. I practiced strutting in my swimsuit and heels, turning just the right way, and speaking clearly when I was introduced.
What I should have worked on was filtering. You know, the process where you learn to stop and think about the thought that just burst into your head before you actually let it out of your mouth? Filtering.
It happened in the interview. This was one aspect of the pageant that scared me most. Our coordinator had schooled us on current events (which I knew nothing about) and how to sit properly. Why did she not teach us about thinking before you speak???
I remember very little about the interview. The judges faces are a blur. The room? No idea. I know I wore my sister's cream pencil skirt and a silky brown blouse. And I was nervous. Each judge took a turn to ask a question. I only remember one.
"How would your mother describe you in one word?"
Here's where the filtering would have come in handy. In my naive, innocent, stupidity, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.
Oh, crap! I tried to take it back, tried to shove that word back into my mouth and out of earshot.
Cover! Say something witty, something smart. Anything!
"I mean, well, not lazy...."
I don't know what else I tried to say. It didn't matter. Angels could have dropped from heaven and crowned me with a halo, but all those judges would ever think when they looked at me was- lazy.
And, who wants a lazy Miss America?
It's not like I would have won, anyway.
Today, I don't need a filter. I'll tell you right out, I'm lazy. Especially when it comes to blogging.
I'd like to blame it on no time. Seriously? My kids are all in school. All. Day. I have time.
I'd blame it on the fact that I need to clean my house. Yeah, my house is still a mess.
Or, I might claim I have no ideas. Oh, I have ideas. They sit in a bowl, like batter, all sweet and full of promise, and I just leave them there, never letting them bake into their fluffy, delicious purpose.
In an attempt to cure myself of this laziness problem, first I will picture all of you as judges. In your underwear. (Kidding.) What I'm going to do is join NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), where you commit to posting every day. Every. Day.
I can't promise that all my posts will be brilliant. (Can't promise that any of them will be.) Or that they will all be lengthy. But, I will promise to do my best.
Because that's better than seeing me in heels and a swimsuit.
PS--Tomorrow, my take on last week's Survivor. A belated post or one just in time? You decide!