When I was a little girl, I would lock myself in the bathroom and pretend I was being crowned Miss America.
Gazing at myself in the shower-steamed mirror, I’d mouth the words, “And the new Miss America is . . .”
Then I’d wrap a bath towel around my head, imagining it were that majestic sparkling crown worn by the most admired woman in the world.
In those days, Miss America was highly esteemed—at least she was to me.Continue reading