Several weeks ago, Miss Universe pageant officials, naively or not, asked me if I wanted to come down for a few days for a Miss Congeniality-esque experience while the 88 women who had qualified from their respective countries got ready for the big night.
Of course I did.
Now, I am not exactly a pageant-type girl. I am small, I am prone to muffin top, and I shun high heels. But, in the search for new experiences, why not?
So I packed a bag and flew down with the A Broad Abroad crew to Doral, Florida, and primed myself for the Miss Universe Experience.
Day 1 was all about the look.
I showed up at the ballroom of the Trump Doral ready to represent the Galaxy of Ohio, quadrant Cincinnati, with a red T-shirt that read, “Nobody Puts Cincy in the Corner.” The ballroom had been turned into a glam room, complete with rows of hair and makeup stands, racks of bedazzled dresses that would have made RuPaul’s eyes bleed with envy, and more Chinese Laundry shoes than a Payless in Topeka.
