Short Jewish Queen of the Universe

I'm not in this photo.

If you're anything at all like the SJG, and if you are, I'll give you a few psychiatric referrals I keep handy, you spend a good deal of your day wondering, "What are the qualifications to become Queen of the Universe? Is it too late for me? Can I still apply?" Last night, I decided to find out if I, humble height-impaired writerly gal that I am, a few pounds over the legal supermodel limit, made the regal grade. I mean, seriously. Why shouldn't I enter this international pageant? Why shouldn't the SJG of Sherman Oaks join this elite global group of super glam, genetically, not to mention cosmetically, enhanced, gorgeous humans? They were right there in the only dance studio that still lets me in. (List of public places the SJG has been banned from available upon request.) Wasn't this a sign from above that it was my time to shine?

And so, as the glamazons stormed the studio in their stilettos and really tight outfits, I challenged my fellow jazz-hand flashers to join the procession. The contestants were about to rehearse a dance number for the annual competition.  There were so many of them, thousands, it seemed, or maybe hundreds, okay, more like 75, squeezed into one mirrored locale, there was no way they'd notice us. I turned to my friends. "Come on, let's get in there and make some trouble. Who's with me?" No one was with me.  I thought for sure Joan, a recent octogenarian, was up for some mischief.  Not so.  "Joan, come on, let's do it.  Let's just see what happens." Joan shoved me into the studio and quickly left the building.

I was there by myself.  It was just me and 4,000 beauty queens-in-training. The music started, a peppy track with a Latin beat, and the two choreographers demonstrated the routine. I won't lie. I got a few jealous stares from the other gals when I went a touch overboard with the hip moves and frequent shouts of, "Shake it, don't break it, bitches!" Suddenly, the music stopped. One of the choreographers came over. "Excuse me, little one?  What are you doing in here?" "Isn't this remedial salsa for the neurotically-inclined?" I asked.  "Uh, no, this is for Queens of the Universe only." "But I'm a Short Jewish Queen of the Universe.  Doesn't that count for something?" "Not in this room."
(2-26-14)