A Redneck Ms. American

By: Angela Gillaspie Copyright © August 2002

The announcer slurred, "Ms. Boogertown is the NEW Ms. American!"

The whine of the microphone's feedback broke my concentration on the Auburn game that I was secretly listening to on my earphone. Why couldn't this pageant be on a Tuesday?

"You won!" Gushed Ms. Martha's Vineyard as she nudged me forward.

Shocked, I pulled my earphone out so quickly that the audience thought I was brushing my two-foot high Priscilla Presley sparkled bouffant into place. I gazed out at the strobes and swirling lights, "Oh-mah-gorsh!"

I shot Ms. Atlanta and Ms. Detroit a triumphant look as I burst into tears and ascended the stage. The old Ms. American, a gal from St. Louis, nestled the crown in my thickly sprayed hair. Under my breath, I warned her, "Watch the 'do, sugar, I might just have to do sumthin' real bad if ya mess it up."

Old Ms. American swallowed hard, handed me a bouquet of yellow roses, and backed up allowing me (and my hair) to have room on the stage. The announcer sang, "Here she is MIZ AMUR-UH-CAN!" And I heard Momma whistle and my beloved Clyde holler, "Way to go baybee!"

Walking down the platform, dark blue mascara-filled tears left white ditches on my cheeks as they splashed on my green velvet and gold sequined evening gown. I'm so emotional because I had PMS and that danged girdle was pinching my right butt cheek while my bloated belly got shoved into my full bladder. I thought a nice cold beer would calm my nerves before the evening gown part, but all I had was a sour mouth and an urge to pee real bad.

Looking back at the other girls, I felt unrestrained happiness. By winning the title of Ms. American, I've proved that my bust was more abundant, my hair was way bigger, my dress was tighter, my make up was heavier, and my talent (watermelon seed spitting to Strauss's Blue Danube) was more imaginative and most accurate. 'Scuse me if I gloat.

Waving to the applauding audience, I felt woozy at the prizes I just won! 5,000 buck-a-roos! With that much money, I will finally be able to complete my collection of Brenda Lee albums ... I need about three more. Lordy, and at the Wal-Mart gift certificates I could buy for this Christmas! Daddy would finally be able to get that squishy toilet seat he's been wanting.

The lifetime supply of Velveeta® will come in handy when my cousins come to visit from Tennessee. They love grilled tuna melts. What I'm really egg-cited about is the Egg Wave®, although I worry about Clyde's cholesterol - he dearly loves eggs with his deer meat. I'm gonna use Egg Wave® to cook eggs and save my bacon drippings for my beans!

The cross-country tour I will have to take representing Ms. American will be a hoot. I can't wait to spread the word about my beauty (how to enhance cleavage with two pieces of duct tape, and getting a winning smile using WD-40) and my life experiences (working as a master technician down at the Thrifty Lube and as a shampoo girl at the Beauty Box).

As I walked back to the stage, I stuck in my earphone, quickly excused myself, and headed to the bathroom. Auburn was third and goal on Florida's five-yard line with a minute and a half until the end of the quarter and my bladder was spazzing.

The crowd wanted more, they shouted, "Boogertown! Boogertown! Boooooogertown!"

"BOOGGGURRRRTOOOOWN!"

Hopefully everyone just thought I had a bad case of nerves. Even Ms. American has to take a break!

"BOOOOOOGER! BOOOOOGGURRRRTOOOOWWNNNN!"

"Booger? Booger, hun?"

"Booger, hun, I'm goin' to town. Wake up baby, I'm in a hurry!"

I open my eyes to see Clyde grinning down at me. "Booger? Wake up, baybee, I'm goin' to town for some Velveeter cheese'n eggs, yew want anythang?"

A girl can dream, can't she?

Stay tuned for more SouthernAngel's dreams!