Dear Miss USA: Getting Up IS Hard To Do

Dear Miss USA,

Aren't you glad the Miss Universe pageant is over? After your ordeal of falling on stage on Monday night, in front of a TV audience of a billion people, how are you doing?

Tell me what happened. Were your heels too high? Did you step on your dress? Was it the music? Personally, I love that Sean Paul/Keyshia Cole song, don't you? I thought it was great that you all got to strut your stuff to it during the evening gown competition. But, I wouldn't blame you if you suddenly started thinking of Sean Paul and just lost your balance, because, well, he's pretty fly.

I'm sorry, don't cry. I know, I'm bringing up painful memories. And folks are definitely making some mean and unnecessary comments about you. Who knew that the footage of your falling would be such a hit on YouTube? But, don't worry. In case it feels like the end, I am proof that you can fall on stage and still be a success in life.

In fourth grade, I was in a play called "A Keg of Gunpowder". I wasn't the leading lady or even in a supporting role of that amazing, revolutionary war tale. In fact, I might have only had two or three lines. But, I had to dance on stage. While I was dancing, I stepped on my floor-length costume and BAM! Down I went.

I know, a billion people weren't watching me do it. And I wasn't getting stared at by Nina Garcia and the other "judges". But I did have a very stern nun named Sister Paula hissing at me from the side of the stage, "Get up! Get up! NOW!"

What she meant was, "Get up before I kill you because you're ruining the play!" Yes, Sister Paula was a fierce woman, one of those old-school teachers who believed that humiliation helps the soul grow character. I think she liked to make kids cry just so she could spit out her famously stinging setdown, "Stop crying those baby alligator tears."

The third day of school in her class, we had a written assignment due. She held mine up in front of the class. "Do you know how to write?"

From her tone, I knew something was wrong. I was scared to death, but I answered, "Yes,". Not a pop-my-neck-with-sass kind of yes. Not a bored sighing kind of yes. It was definitely a meek mouse yes.

She pounced immediately. "No, you do not. This," she shook my paper in my face, "is not cursive. This is printing. Printing is not writing." She then proceeded to rip my paper up and throw it in the trash, promising that if I didn't learn how to properly write in cursive, I wouldn't make it out of the fourth grade.

So you can imagine how well my tripping on the long skirt of my costume went over with Sister Paula. You can imagine how, when I tumbled forward into the props, knocking them all over the place, I was convinced she was going to emerge from the eaves to box my ears.

At least you had the presence of mind to get right back up, strut your stuff and smile, despite the boos from that rude crowd. I don't even think there was a Sister Paula type there to yell at you and tell you to get up! Given your backbone, I'm sure you'll go on to be a success in the world and no one will even remember this little incident after the next pop-culture "news" story hits the Internet.

In fact, since your little mishap seems to have brought out quite a few antagonistic comments (see the comments on the YouTube footage) between Mexicans and Americans, maybe you can add some Mexican/American unity efforts to your Miss USA platform. See, some good could come out of this after all.

If you need a shoulder to cry on, just let me know.

Warmly,

Los Angelista