So Sunday night I did it again. I picked the winner without even trying.
It didn’t take a molecule of brain power. It didn’t take effort, analyzing, or number-crunching. I didn’t even watch the silly show and when I flipped to it a couple times I kept the sound on mute and watched the screen for no more than a few minutes. But I still did it with my usual ease.
I picked the winner of the Miss USA pageant.
And pause again to save my dignity by publicly insisting I DON’T WATCH ABSURD, ANACHRONISTIC, SEXIST, ARTIFICE-DRIPPING, MAD MEN-STYLE SEUQINED CRAPOLA otherwise known as beauty pageants.
But the fact remains that if there were any justice in the world I would have made a fortune by now picking the winners of those dumb pageants.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so embarrassed. After all, James Bond is a crackerjack poker player who can win millions. And a lotta action heroes have a quirky little talent or two. But none of them can pick a pageant winner like I can.
I first noticed this useless gift a few years ago. As a compulsive remote flipper, I changed the channel during the commercial break and happened upon the Miss World or Miss Universe pageant or some other drivel. Across the screen paraded a whole lotta women in glittery Las Vegas versions of native costumes. And yes, they really did all look alike. Yet for some odd reason my attention focused on a couple of those women. I flipped back to the pageant a couple more times, all the while leaving the sound on mute because I DESPISE mindless fake happy chatter. And in those minutes I focused on one particular woman for no logical reason. I just knew she’d be it. Finally I caught the tail end of the pageant…
That woman was crying and wearing a godawful tiara the size of a football helmet.
Ever since that night, my gift has gotten stronger. I find myself deliberately catching a few minutes of those shows because it’s fun to be right in advance about SOMETHING in life. Now, less than halfway through any pageant of which I’ll watch no more than five or ten muted minutes, I can pick the winner. On Sunday the cut included a buncha blondes, a few brunettes, and one redhead. I didn’t even bother to see what states they were from. I simply knew right away that no blonde would win. It would be the redhead. And I was right.
Why does this matter?
Because yesterday morning I learned that a Las Vegas oddsmaker had given that redhead 8 to 1 odds. EIGHT TO ONE, people! I could’ve made some decent money if only I had known some bookie who takes bets on pageants!
Seriously, I’m gonna find out if such a creature exists. Or at the very least try to hone my odd gift to include football games with lucrative pools. I really do need the money.