The day was filled with hope and promise, for a lot of the little girls, and their mothers, in the makeshift dressing room, of the Madison Mansions, hotel. Each mother, could vicariously, live through their child’s win, that day. Every mother, had an almost equal chance, at their diluted quest, for acceptance, through their child, as well as a small cash prize. Humans. Unequal. Being the best at something, in their short lives. Every girl, had a fighting chance, until Grace, and her daughter, Rihanna, entered the hotel, poised for a victory, that was anything but subtle.
Grace was a beautiful, thirty-five year old woman, with long legs and big, natural tits. Grace had a walk that exuded confidence, yet somehow conveyed that she was not arrogant or unapproachable. Rihanna was pretty just like her mother. She was thin and full of energy. Rihanna had a similar walk as her mother, but with a little more emphasis on youth. Rihanna bounced around, with an elegant nonchalance.
Some hair was styled, twirled, and curled. Some were flattened, straightened, and sprayed. The toxicity, and flammability of the dressing rooms, was undeniably high. Mothers were reminding their little ladies, to smile and wave. Turn and stop. Grace and Rihanna, sat and watched the spectacle. The show was about to begin.
The young girls, did a few tumbles and flips. They twirled and smiled. There was over practiced walking and too much make up. The many days of fighting and screaming, between two DNA similar strains, was all up on the stage. All the little women of the future. The future stay-at-home mother of four. The paralegal. The stripper. The best friend and worst enemy of man.
Rihanna approaches the keyboard. Her unexpected tool of foreboding delight. She begins. It was as if the whole of woman’s hardship, spewed out the lungs, of this old soul.“Six years old, wow.“, one mother said to another. Grace could hear the mother’s awe. She enjoyed the appreciation, and seemed to know, that although she had helped Rihanna with lessons and tutors, Rihanna had a special gift, that Grace could not teach Rihanna. Sometimes you just know. They have that special glow. Rihanna had it. Everyone at the competition knew it. Any sweet little blond, coming up after Rihanna, had no chance. They would look very amateurish, in comparison. Rihanna finishes, in a rousing triumph. The crowd is deafening, in its enthusiastic appreciation. Rihanna’s innocent little mind, couldn’t comprehend, why these large, grown women, would cry at her shows. Rihanna thought she was hurting these strangers, but then they would clap, and tell her how good she was. They would praise her, to hurt them. It was strange.