Toddlers & Tiaras: She Works Hard For The Money. And The Cheese Dip.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That’s right. Who’s your Pageant Daddy?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two Pixie Stix, make you hollah.  For a sippy cup of Mountain Dew you get the flipper, too.

 

 

 

I might need a minute here.

It appears that in a very short period of time our little Paisley has come a long way from eating boogers and dreaming of cheese dip.

Toddlers & Tiaras, you win.  Again.

It seems like only three episodes or so ago that Paisley was taking her Grand Uber Diana Ross and the Supreme(s) Crown and heading to the Crackerbarrel refrigerated case for a big jar of celebratory take home cheese dip after wiping the Ramada floor with all the other little glittered up preemies.  Just a few months ago she was safe at home in her trophy case/bedroom/solitary confinement with one finger up her nose, and one stuck in the Cheez Whiz.

Flash forward a few pageants.

Now she is working the monkey bar crowd for their lunch money.  Baby needs a new pair of shoes.  And some hot rollers.

What the–?!  Paisley was not even supposed to be the star of this week’s T&T, but I guess no one got around to mentioning that to her.  She is destined to be tomorrow’s water cooler topic, if we lived in a world where people actually admitted to watching Toddlers & Tiaras, I mean.   She was the cherry on top of this triple scoop mess.

Let’s start at the beginning, because I’m already losing my focus.  This is going to be a long one.  Take a break if you need it.  Hydrate.

This week was pure overload.  Brystol, already a pro at pageants and pooping at a whopping 18 months old was headed to the Queen of Hearts Precious Moments Something Something Pageant to show everyone that you don’t have to be able to stand yet to take home the crown.  Since I’m pretty sure that Brystol didn’t sign off on the TLC anti-defamation you can’t ever sue us lawsuit waiver form on her own, Mom Brook seemed to be running the show.  And Mom wants to win at any cost.  That cost starts with a $4,000 dress and a husband who thinks the whole thing is “crap” and would probably rather be draining (and drinking) oil from his Chevy than put up with this every weekend.

Mom casually mentions that if they need a second mortgage to do pageants, then so be it.  The thud you heard in the background was probably her husband’s head hitting the wood paneling in the den.  Since money is no object, Mom coaxed uber perky Tara to quit her day job to become their full time pageant coach.  Yes, I said quit her job.  Tara seems waaay more excited to be doing this than I would be, trust me.  How many glued together, fanned out pageant dollars does it take to whoo a person away from their cashiers job at Forever 21 and get them to make the strategic career move into teaching an 18 month old baby how to blow finger kisses?  Think about it.  Figure out your budget, and get back to me.

Chloe is a loud and proud, at least when she is buzzed up on her “special” drink, Daddy’s Girl.  She can’t put together too many full sentences yet, but she has no problem articulating that she doesn’t like Mom as much as she likes Dad.  A little odd at first, until you realize how smart some babies really are, and that Chloe has probably already figured out who is responsible for taking her away from any semblance of a normal life.  Dad rocks his camo huntin’ cap and applies french tips to his baby girl’s pudgy fingers, while Mom stands off on the sidelines doing her best “I carried her for 9 months” pout.  Chloe runs away from Mom.  Chloe runs to Dad.  That’s pretty much their Christmas card note next year.

Then we met Victoria, and her rather unique family.  Mom is a little too happy to be in this whole pageant thing.  She has an opinion on every aspect of the pageant world, and is clear that if you’re in it, you are in it to win it.  And if you break a few little kid’s legs on the way to the top, bummer.  Mom Tammy had the same Dr. Drew Rehab story that most pageant moms have where they started out small, and all natural, and then got the taste of glitz and….well, it’s a slippery slope.  We said we would never tan.  But pale is not an attractive feature.  (I’d be careful how loud you blurt that one out down south, honey.)  She has that nervous mouth breather laugh, and probably puts Dynamo labels with her own name on them over every trophy her daughter wins because “I made her look good…so it’s like I win.”  Ssssh…and the Password is: Validation.

Victoria’s Dad channels all his creative energy, and testosterone, into sewing all her outfits.  Yeah.  Like with a sewing machine and sequins.

Let’s just say I would pay to secretly watch him ride the same Ramada elevator with Bristol’s grease monkey Dad, and leave it at that.

Since we all know that babies are never pageant-worthy right out of the oven, Brystol’s mom decides that she needs to plop a hairpiece on the little nugget’s head.  Keep in mind that at 18 months old you barely have any hair at all, and you certainly don’t want to pin the toddler toupee into that warm soft spot on her skull, so needless to say they had some trouble gettin’ her weave all high and tight like they do at LaQueefa’s Beauty Parlor.  If you can’t get a baby to wear a winter hat, how in the hell did Mom think she was going to get a wig on that girl?  Seriously.  She threw a fit and half.  Almost two fits.

Victoria’s mom isn’t going to let some crybaby 18 month old show her up, so she too gets a box of new hair in the mail for the pageant.  Their first hairpiece.  Again, a little too happy.  Even though Victoria has outgrown that soft spot in her skull, they have no more clue on how to tack that rug down than Brystol’s family did.  This is getting good.

For the double play, she also decides to go all Rebel With A Cause and put Victoria in black shoes and no socks for the pageant.  The same shoes old Italian women wear at funerals when they throw themselves on the casket.  That kind.  El Scandalo.  Why doesn’t she just pull her out of the pageant before it even starts, right?  You can’t win without white shoes and socks.

Even creepy non-blinking judge Darrell, with his really round eyes and really bad spray tan face, points that one out.  Der.

And he likes “a pretty face”…which is a whole other blog post on its own.  Don’t even…

On pageant day, which seems to be held in higher esteem than the Day of the Lord, Chloe is dead to the world tired.  Instead of…I don’t know…letting her nap, Mom puts out the emergency APB on the flip phone to have Dad whip up a bottle of her “special” drink.  Take some energy drinks, some apple juice, some soda and who knows what else.  Shake it.  Put a nipple on it and stick it in the kid’s mouth.  Bazinga!  I’d have to go back into my DVR, but it looked like the same drink Whitney Houston used to chug on that sloppy Bobby Brown Show.

Right before she is supposed to be dragged on stage, Brystol’s mom slams the kid’s head into a door.  Allegedly, like they say on Nancy Grace.  (Dancing with the Stars? Don’t even get me started.)  Mom was trying to get Brystol’s wobbly bobbly head up (keep in mind it now had 5 pounds of fake hair on it) to look thru the little door window at who knows who on the other side.  Doink.  Just because glass is clear, it doesn’t mean it’s not there, people.  Remember that kids.  The More You Know….copyright NBC.

Instead of a maternal “Can you hear us?  Can you see Mommy?  Are you ok?  How many fingers am I holding up?” Mom grumps that their beauty scores will suffer due to the gigantic goose egg welt on Brystol’s forehead.

Any EMT will tell you that the first thing you do for any head wound is put some make up on it.  The show must go on.  Now Brystol has to go on stage with 5 pounds of fake hair, a boo boo kitty bump on her face, mascara running out of her eye sockets, a baby spinal cord that still can’t support a human head and a Mother who won’t take No for an answer.

Then it finally gets good.

The Celebrity Outfit is the final piece of this extravaganza puzzle, and here comes Paisley to save the day.  When the judges said celebrity they were probably not thinking of that Julia Roberts prostitute from Pretty Woman.

Boom goes the dynamite.

Paisley comes out in full head to toe hooker gear.  The wig was a little more Lady Gaga than Julia, but she still worked it as much as a 3 year old can work it.

And then she won the whole freakin’ thing, big crown and all.

The rest of the story doesn’t really even matter after that.  The other moms had meltdowns.  One mom told her daughter to suck the 5th place trophy.  I think there was a prison riot.  And some S.W.A.T. teams breaking in through the air ducts to pepper spray the crowd of angry moms and crying babies.  It was a glitter bloodbath.  Like that episode of Dynasty at the wedding when they all got gunned down in Moldavia.

Or I could be making up that last part, because I might have blacked out a little after the pleather thigh highs.

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