Thursday, July 14, 2011

Queen for a day

Photo by Flickr user anyjazz65.

I grew up in the mountains, on a ranch, with horses. But somehow I never got bit by the cowgirl bug, er, horsefly.

Maybe it was because I was allergic to every single thing in a barn. Especially dirt. Maybe it was my Barbie "tent bed" that kept me locked in my purple bedroom with a castle of books.

From my purple tower, I watched many childhood friends grow into cowgirls. Beautiful, huge-haired, glittery statues of elegance perched a top those dusty creatures whose manure I was supposed to shovel every Sunday, if it weren't for my (achoo) allergies, sorry Mom.

One friend, Tiffany (of course that was her name), competed for rodeo queen. She got fake nails, her teeth bleached and hair extensions, and every other inch of hair from her body removed. She even waxed her face.

I remember the horror when she was riding around the arena in the blistering heat, and her cake of makeup began to droop down her cheeks on a Slip 'n Slide of sweat, no longer supported by the tiny folicules of hair. Her blush was on her shoulders by the time she finished. But she won.

It ain't easy being queen.


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