Miss. Connecticut strode onto stage with the vague preemptory disappointment of a middle school teacher entering her classroom. Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she began,
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Men age like wine and women age like milk, or so the saying goes.
And when young, fresh Darrel snapped these words like a whip against his beautiful little Mimi, she took to worrying. She did not want to curdle!
So she heated her fresh, creamy dairy with the energy of her morning runs, and mixed in the sugar of her love for teaching Zumba with her long-dormant desire to have a studio of her own one day.
While that frothed and foamed, she mixed the plain, finely-ground flour of her color-coordinated daily work schedule and flavored it with the salt of her hatred for Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Adding in a sprinkle of the herbs she nurtured in her apartment window-boxes and a dusting of the spices of far-flung nations she'd travelled in her youth, she mixed the wets into the drys and kneaded with five years worth of labor, reward, and evenings spent deep in the heart of Minecraft.
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And when her golden loaf finally emerged from the oven, she whooped with joy and called her friends to gather around for the feast. Debby brought a salad, and Bernard brought roasted honey-glazed figs, and Patrick brought a whole hog gleaming with seared fat. But when Mimi descended into the cellar to bring them Darrel's beverage, all she found amid the gloom and chill was a single bottle of wine, the glass heavy with dust after having done nothing but age for five years. And five years is not long for wine to age, so Mimi set the bottle back in the dark and grabbed some water for the cheery group awaiting her.
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Polite applause from most of the audience; Miss. Oregon and Miss. Illinois cheered, the sound echoing through the wings. With a curt bow, Miss. Connecticut returned backstage, the curtains closing behind her with a final swish.