People have asked me plenty of times why I have zero sense of embarrassment. I think that it all started when I came home one day and told my mother that I got to dress as a high class prostitute for a school project.
Okay, so to give some context it was freshman year and my AP European History teacher, who was literally the best teacher ever, gave us an assignment called the Enlightenment Salon. In the project we were each assigned a person from the Enlightenment era and we had to dress up as, act like, and basically be that person for the three hour Salon. When getting assignments I chose the only name left that I recognized (since I was relatively near the end of the list of who chose what they wanted when and I was trying to have a female role to play). That happened to be Madame de Pompadour aka the chick from the Doctor Who episode The Girl in the Fireplace.
Apparently the Madame was the King's mistress who basically ruled France from behind the scenes. So when I had to make an 'artifact' to have as part of my costume I made a giant scepter that I could whack people with.
The whole no sense of embarrassment thing came from the fact that we had to change into these costumes in the bathrooms and then make our way to the classrooms where the event was taking place. This would be fine if it weren't for the fact that we were freshman... And the classrooms were in the end of the senior hallway... And the nearest not full bathrooms were in the junior hallway... On the opposite end of the school... yeah.
I head back to the classroom where we are holding our Salon, talking to my friend who, even though she is a she, is dressed as a very classy Napoleon. Beside us is another girl from my class who is dressed as some famous dude who's name I can't remember but apparently was murdered in his bathtub while sitting in a bunch of oatmeal. We must have been quite the sight, me with full layered skirts and ruffled shirt, my friend with the classic Napoleon hat, britches, and jacket, and the other girl with slippers and a bathrobe.
So we finally get to the event, me dressed like a very classy prostitute to the king, and I come across Marie Antoinette. This would have been fine if it weren't for the fact that it was my friend playing the role. My friend who is a guy. A guy who decided that the best way to portray Marie Antoinette was to carry around an empty 'champagne' bottle and pretend he was drunk. The whole time.
I'm not even kidding a little when I say that he pretended to be a drunk queen of France for the entire three hours. When we had to give our speeches on our 'ideals' he stumbled up to the stage, tried to climb up, failed, sat down instead, and then warbled out his speech in a disorderly yet quite informative manner.
It was no surprise that when we had to vote on the best costume he won by a landslide. But there you have it. The story of how a drunk Marie Antoinette, a king's prostitute, Napoleon, and a guy who died in a bathtub all at pizza and drank sparkling apple juice together in a badly decorated high school classroom.