My girls have a new favorite show, “Little Miss Perfect.”

In fact, they like the WeTv show so much we have to TiVo it for those episodes that they miss while they’re at their daddy’s house.

For those who don’t know the premise, the opening line of the show says it all, “Hi, my name is (blank) and I’m a beauty queen.”

On the last show we caught, the cameras followed Jayne in her quest to become “Little Miss Perfect.”

Unfortunately, the only thing Jayne was in line to win was the crown of the “Best Little Brat” because had she been my child, she’d had a what my granny used to call an “attitude adjustment,” quick-like and in a hurry.

But for my girls, I think it’s just the draw of pretty dresses and big hair on pint-sized Barbies.

I can’t fault them for that – I like pretty dresses and big hair, too. It’s just that I’m not too keen on the competition and the thought of judging someone solely on looks.

I will confess that early on in my oldest daughter’s life, she was a beauty queen. Ages 2 to 4, there wasn’t a crown she didn’t take home when she entered. My friends and their daughters entered, so I thought it would be fun for all of us to do together, but the process got old, not to mention expensive.

Which brings me to my current dilemma – the Miss Florala Beauty pageant.

Set for next month, the pageant’s open to Florala girls from kindergarten to 12th grade. Years ago, I told Ora, “no more pageants.” I sealed the deal with a promise that she could do only her school pageant, thinking I’d never have to make good on it since hopefully it was a stage she would outgrow.

I was wrong and am now holding an application form in my hand.

My dilemma is that this – I have two daughters who are eligible to compete, and it’s always been our motto that “What you do for one, you do for all.”

Fair is fair, right?

If you buy one a pair of shoes, you better come home with a set for the other two.

So what if one of the daughters eligible to compete doesn’t match with the traditional beauty queen look?

Do I tell one daughter she can’t compete because of her sister, and do I tell the other no because I know she’ll only get her feelings hurt in the end?

To me, beauty is a package – the outer trappings like cellophane on a gift basket whose only duty is to be shucked to reveal things like self confidence, intelligence and fine sense of humor and the core of one’s character.

Unfortunately, those things don’t help one win a beauty pageant, and it won’t convince a 6-year-old that what other people say about the way one looks doesn’t matter.

I’ve heard the saying, “The bigger the hair, the closer to God.”

I’m thinking that I should go to the salon, get my hair all pretty and see if He tells me what to do.