You, your wife, and Miss Universe
Selecting Miss Universe is based on an assumption. We can compare all beauties in the world. All we need is have them pose on the stage in an evening gown. In the early years bikinis were banned. Some contests make it mandatory now. The judges look at Miss Kenya, assess her makeup, the way she walks. They hold their score card with a number. They repeat the process for Miss New Zealand and for Miss Pakistan. We assume beauty is universal, easily measured on a scale of 1 to 10.
Beauty pageants have their critics who point out they are not diverse enough. The ideal beauty is still a white woman.
Why do I think it’s a good sign? Why does it give us hope?
You can compare your wife to the hottie next door or to the cover girl of Cosmopolitan. You come to a conclusion you may not want to come to. At least your wife doesn’t want you to come. It’s not even a fair comparison. The cover girl lives in a parallel dimension. It lacks squeaking toddlers and long night shifts but abounds with stylists, makeup, and photoshop as a last resort. You’re happy to have free access to decades worth of Cosmopolitan but can you cope with this freedom?
