The picture above makes me glad I am not a woman because only as a man I can appreciate what a bikini beauty means to mankind. I am also glad I am not a woman because if I were, I would have entered the competition and blown away the hopes of the other aspirants, not only with my perfect Barbie-like proportions, but with my sensual charms and well placed dimples. I would have made mincemeat of those gray-headed judges and have them eating whipped cream from the palm of my hand. If I were a woman I would have those old geezers begging not only for more, but to not call their wives or girlfriends. Holding up my number and being inspected would have turned me on and unleashed my charms. My UWI education would have counted for something but only on my Miss Universe resume and not in my head. My beauty would have been the stuff men crave 24/7 and cost them their place in Heaven.
Forgive the rant above and though being a beauty competition judge is still my boyhood dream, I don’t envy the amount of bad-eye I would receive from the rejected contestants. Who am I to decide who is better than who, they would say. My score sheet and remarks would be etched in my brain and labeled “Top Secret” for security purposes. Maybe online voting should be part of the selection process to help point the aging judges in the right direction. Seeing too many bikini-clad beauties over a short space of time can only cause old men to bend and break. But I speak as an envious man with no training in either beauty selection or knowing a good thing when I see it.