It all started one Friday when I heard a radio ad for a casting call to take place over the weekend.

I’d never harbored dreams of Tessa acting/singing/dancing, so what I did next was pure impulse. I dialed the number. And in the 10 minutes it took to drive through the school’s pickup line, I had secured Tessa an audition for Sunday afternoon.

There were only two questions I asked: would I be able to be with Tessa during the entire process (Yes! Oh, yes!) and was this actually an application for a modeling school (No! Definitely no!). I even double checked both answers.

“No, ma’am,” the chirpy girl said the third time I asked for reassurance. “This is most definitely an audition for real parts and not a pitch for a school.”

Tessa, then 7, was excited. Her favorite thing to do was to sing and dance and perform for imaginary audiences. There IS something in her that sparkles. And we expend a lot of energy taming her inner diva.

It took hours to get ready. The first time I curled her hair it didn’t meet her standards, so we started all over. Once we had an acceptable ‘do, she shellacked the heck out of it with hairspray. Moderation is not a concept she has mastered.

She chose a purple dress with white tights and looked beautifully sweet. On the drive down, a small run appeared at her thigh, which would have been hidden by the dress and not a problem except that she picked at it. By the time we arrived at the audition, the gaping hole was down to her knee.

“No worries,” I said. ” Just take them off and go bare-legged.”

“I can’t, Mom.” she devilishly replied. “I don’t have anything on underneath!”

I had to verify this because I didn’t believe her. But she was not messing with me.

Holy moly. She had no other choice than to pretend that she meant to wear a huge hole in her tights.

We get out of the car and join The Throngs. Dozens of other cars are disgorging little girls in their Sunday best and accompanying uptight-looking moms. I realize I am one of them. We all head for the elevators, angling to be first in line so we can get on with our Sundays.

We check in by filling out forms and enclosing photos we were instructed to bring. We are herded into a room with a rocking video looping about the wonderful and exciting world of child acting! Everyone is having so much fun and there are no Mean Girls! Join us! You are just steps away from being the next Hannah Montana!

While Tessa watches, entranced, I work on the forms. I find the sucker punch.

It’s a frickety-frack gol-darned bite-me SCHOOL.

At this point, I can gather our things and leave in a huff. Or I can consider this a nice, free Sunday activity made for mothers and daughters.

I breathe.

In the next room the girls line up along one wall and the parents on the other. This is the Runway Room, where a very unmodel-like man (think Barney Rubble) regales us with his credentials in the fashion world. He sashays up and down to loosen up the crowd before he guides the girls though The Walk.

The mom on my right hoots at his every lame joke as if her daughter’s success depends Barney noticing her. The mom on my left reeks of whiskey. I turn into a stage mom myself when I keep motioning to Tessa to keep the tie of her dress out of her nose.

For her turn Tessa walks just fine and shares a big smile with a giggle at the end of the “runway.” Barney gives no indication of her “grade,” but my heart swells with pride.

Next is the individual Interview. With the  frickety-frack gol-darned bite-me SCHOOL DIRECTOR. She asks only one question of us: How supportive are the parents? She gives us the bum’s rush and says to call at 7 pm tomorrow night to see if Tessa is accepted.

Finally, there IS an actual audition, ostensibly for a commercial. In a room full of other hopefuls, each girl is to say her lines on camera and persuade breakfast eaters everywhere to eat Kell.0gg’s Corn Po.ps. Tessa says her name and age, and repeats the lines as they are fed to her. She speaks confidently and displays the ease that comes with enjoying herself. Again, no reaction from the evaluators.

Then it was over. Tessa came to the back row and sat in my lap and gave me a huge hug and kiss. Once we were in the car, she said “Mom! That was awesome!”

A silver lining to being bamboozled.

Tessa had no idea that this audition might have lead somewhere. So my question was, should I even call that night to see if she was accepted into the frickety-frack gol-darned bite-me SCHOOL?* There’s no way we would ever enroll her.

I prefer to think this was just a nice, free Sunday activity made for mothers and daughters.

* I did call. Surprise! The frickety-frack gol-darned bite-me SCHOOL would deign to accept our tuition money.

Image: MumsRock.com