Toddlers & Tantrums [oops - I mean Tiaras].
Mamas with sequins in their eyes and glitz gowns in their trailers are chomping at the bit – with what teeth they have – to live out their [ahem] little girls dream of reigning beauty queen supreme. And there is just one standing between their home perm and their daughters wiglet, and the funny thing is, it’s the same thing that stands between mothers and my daughters getting anything accomplished. It’s the tantrum.
You don’t have to be in the spray tan stall, or the crowded hallway of an Arkansas Holiday Inn to watch your daughter fall apart. It can happen anywhere. But face it - it’s a little bit sad, a little bit wrong, and a little bit more fun to watch it on TLC. And I do.
Maybe it’s the redbull/applejuice/mountain dew “special juice” that they suck down before their big ta-daa, but damn, these diva darlings of the pageant circut have their throwdowns down to a science. Their tantrums seem more well rehearsed than their bitty elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist waves to the ballroom crowd. Seeing them thrash and trash everything their mama and curling iron toting coach have built for them makes me laugh not a little, but a lot. I haven’t lived a life revolving around $2,000 gowns and $200 cash prizes [seriously, hicksters, that jr. high math class would have done you more good than skipping out for joints and hand jobs], but I have lived through a tremendous amount of tantrums, and that connection keeps me coming back for more.