Pomp and pageantry

So this weekend my little sister will be competing in a "contest." I don't want to say which one (though I think I already maybe did an entry or two back) for fear that my uber-popular blog (read: 10 hits today-- woo!) might get picked up far and wide and that there may be some negative consequences to sister because of what I've had to say. Let's just say it's the type of thing where people of the feminine persuasion compete by wearing fancy dresses and bathing suits, performing in a talent competition, and are asked questions where the correct answer is always "world peace." The winner gets a large, rhinestone-bedecked piece of jewelry to wear on her head. Hope that's not too specific.
Anyway, such contests do seem to bring out some interesting traits in those who compete, as well as in their families. At one "event" a few years ago, I saw a girl fall very hard while doing a tap dance number in a preliminary competition. It seemed like the accident was enough to secure the judge's pity, so she returned as part of the Top 5. During the next day's competition, she had her arm wrapped in an Ace bandage, decorated with red, sparkly gauze to match her outfit. When the final talent competition came round, this young lady had changed out the red gauze for silver, but when her arms started flailing during her showcase move, the gauze started unraveling. It was terrible. First of all, I wasn't even aware she'd hurt her arm, as she'd fallen on her bottom. But you MUST NOT laugh. You never know if her family is seated right next to you. You may only cheer enthusiastically and save any laughter for the private ride home.
On another occasion, it was my own dear sister who suffered some misfortunes. We went to a "contest" in Arizona in the middle of June. It was insufferably hot, and my sister was insufferable. When we arrived at our room at the airport Raddison, we found the pool under construction. Sister announced she would be sleeping on the rollaway bed, positioned right next to the air conditioner, and that I would have the bed furthest away (though closest to the bathroom, which is not such a terrible thing). Unfortunately, the next day she awoke with a stiff neck. We had a bit of time before the competition and went shopping at a large outlet center. My sister had to walk around twice in opposite directions because she couldn't turn her head to the left.
Later at that same competetion, the condition of my sister's stiff neck put her on incredible edge. As she hurried to get ready for her interview, I remember her rushing into the bedroom, grabbing me by the wrist and yelling, "Do I have a moustache?!" She didn't, but sometimes her makeup gets oily and it looks like she does. The poor girl was just up in arms. We'd spent a good deal of time quizzing her on important things she might possibly need to know for the interview (and how was it she didn't know who our Lt. Governor was? I didn't even live in New Mexico at the time... but we're not judging), but those things never came up. What did they ask Sister? "Who is the President of the United States?" How truly insulting to assume someone might not know that! But quite unfortunatly, my sister's nerves got the best of her and she answered with great confidence and gusto, "George Washington!" I'm afraid she didn't walk away with a title from that little event.
But it's just not the girls who get a little batty at these things. Moms are worse, including my own dear, sainted mother. It wasn't until my sister started participating in such competetions that my mother started saying things to me like, "Rachel, I'm getting you an appointment to have your eyebrows waxed."
Of course, it's a very stressful time. Even I have succombed to the mania a time or two. I spent a good part of my morning making buttons with my sister's picture on them for the whole Sego cheering section to wear. We'd thrown around the idea of all wearing matching turquoise terry cloth track suits (with "Team Sego" embroidered in white down the pant leg) but there just wasn't enough time. Instead, we'll just have to settle for the pins and ringing the cow bells.
It's tough being the sister of a prospective minor celebrity. Let's just hope that if it becomes my job this weekend to carry evening gowns or bring extra Sharpies for signing autographs or just giving pep talks, that we'll avoid any of the mishaps of yesteryear. I once fell down the stairs carrying a chair for my sister's talent (that is, her talent wasn't inflicting pain on her older sister, but she needed a chair for her flamenco dance). And here's wishing all the girls participating in this weekend's big event can do it with grace and good sportsmanship (and that no one will steal anyone else's falsies).