When the auditorium lights dimmed once more and the host announced the eighth story of the night, Miss. Arkansas pushed her way forward from the back of the crowd of contestant in the wings. "Look, I'm not here to start drama, but you're just as much a sexy lamp as the rest of us," she whispered to Miss. Idaho, pausing before the edge of the stage. "Do you think we're fighting to be crowned the most talented woman in America?" Miss. Idaho just smirked and gestured her forwards.
"Oh, this should be good," Miss. Connecticut whispered to Miss. Oregon. The latter shrugged, and the two settled to watch the show.
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I know you don’t like her, and that’s okay; I don’t really like her either. You could call her cruel, and no one would argue against that. You could call her vain, and I’d wholeheartedly agree. But I’ve gotta resist you calling her stupid.
She wasn’t always pretty. She’s had to grow into herself, I think; grow into her long legs, her big ears, the volume of that brilliant blonde hair that makes her and her sister the envy of all women on this side of the Rhine. She told me that the first time she saw herself in the mirror and felt proud of what she saw, she cried. With her looks came more friends, and that’s how she got her job at that brewery. No, no boyfriends (although she could have gotten a boy if she wanted to)--friends. And then one of her friends got her some powder and a little rouge for her birthday, and her tips began to increase, and I think that’s how she began to get obsessed with her looks.
I mean, who knows, maybe it came from her home. When her father died, her mother really began to flounder. Oh, you didn’t know? Yeah, they were living hand to mouth for a while, two little girls and only one unwed woman to feed them. Anyway, lucky woman, her mother caught the eye of Cinderella’s father and that was that. That’s how she, her sister, and her mother came to live in luxury. Her aunt, a sweet girl but very plain, was widowed young as well but couldn’t remarry, and last I heard she and her sons were living in a church-provided house.
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Or maybe her vanity came from having Cinderella to boss around, a silent servant to plait her hair and lace her dresses and polish her jewelry. I did say she was cruel.
Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that I don’t think she was stupid, listening to her mother’s suggestion the way she did. She would have gotten away with it, if Cinderella’s weird psychic birds hadn’t done the whole “coo coo, there’s blood in the shoe” thing. And can you imagine what it would have been like, if she’d been queen? She could have saved her aunt and cousins, made sure her mother never had to depend financially on a man again, decked her sister in gold and sent her to travel the world! She could have forged peace for us all or condemned the kingdom to war, could have twisted the laws to her heart’s desire. Oh, I think she would have done a terrible job, but who doesn’t want that power?
No, you fool, I’m not trying to imply she did it for herself. Of course she didn’t slice off her own heel for herself. All I’m trying to say is that her mom was right–she wouldn’t have needed to walk as queen. She wouldn’t have needed to do anything she didn’t want to as queen. So can you really call her stupid for making the shoe fit?
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Miss. Arkansas didn't stick around to wait for applause. Turning on her heel, she marched back to the group, her eyes on Miss. Idaho.
"Hey, I really liked that," Miss. Connecticut said, as though to smooth over any fight before it could begin. "I think you did a great job reflecting on our society's condemnation of women for the very thing they--"
"I liked it too," Miss. Idaho said. Miss. Connecticut hushed and sank back into her seat.
"W...really?" Miss. Arkansas asked.
"Yeah." Miss. Idaho paused. "Maybe I need to be gentler to myself."
Miss. Arkansas opened her mouth to respond and faltered. Before she could collect herself, the host announced the next girl, and she quietly retreated to the back of the crowd.